Phoenix Rising
by itzaboo
Summary: Post Bombshells: House finally has HIS say regarding Cuddy's heartless breakup of their relationship. Begins with Huddy but not destined to stay that way. M rating is well deserved as there is no shortage of hot sex between two characters that stumble upon the fact that they REALLY care for one another. Don't like? Don't read or review. Rabid Huddies: YOU have been warned!
1. Chapter 1

**Phoenix Rising**

**1. **

Lisa Cuddy was in a hurry. Even though it was her natural tendency, particularly at work, to be rushed, today there was an added element to her urgency. Her need for a hasty departure from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was predicated on the fact that she had sent Gregory House an email requesting his immediate resignation as Chief Diagnostician of the hospital.

She had, not more than five minutes ago, pressed the 'send' key on her computer and she was already putting on her jacket and grabbing her briefcase and car keys from her desk.

It had been more than five weeks ago that she had gone to his apartment and broken off their months-long affair after he had begun taking Vicodin again.

House was an addict. He would always be an addict. But Cuddy thought that a relationship with her would be the healing balm that might finally drive him to forsake his drug dependency, shatter his need to be right and at the same time destroy his inclination to be reticent about sharing his feelings.

She had been wrong, so horribly wrong. A personal health scare and the possibility of terminal cancer had loomed large when a growth had been found on her kidney. House was unable to come to terms with the possibility of Cuddy's loss. So much so that he had at first shunned all contact with her.

But at the eleventh hour, in typical House fashion, he'd walked into her hospital room, held her hand, made her laugh and stayed with her pre and post op. He had played the supportive boyfriend role to perfection, being there for her in every way possible.

But he had not done it alone. House had gone back to his old crutch, his old demon Vicodin to get him through the worst of the pain and fear of loneliness that Cuddy's demise would mean to him. Her eventual discovery of his slip had initiated her nighttime visit to his apartment where she had broken up with him.

The ensuing weeks were spent with each of them attempting to avoid each other. Cuddy rarely left her office nowadays and House relegated himself to his. If any tricky or questionable procedures in his department required her approval, House sent one of his fellows, Foreman, Chase, Taub, Masters or the recently returned Thirteen to Cuddy's office to get her sign off.

Neither of them had been acting like themselves and Cuddy realized that neither of them probably would feel comfortable again unless a serious change occurred. But Lisa Cuddy had no intention of leaving the job and career she had worked so hard to achieve.

It was House who would have to go then and the sooner the better for them both.

Cuddy would write up a few glowing letters of recommendation. Combining that with House's worldwide diagnostic reputation would surely secure him a new position at another hospital quickly.

The only flaw in this plan was that House's reputation for being a difficult ass was just as renowned as his status for solving cases that nearly every other physician found unfathomable.

But that was no longer her concern. House would need to learn to fend for himself without the safety net that she or his best friend and chief enabler, James Wilson, had always provided for him.

She spent the entirety of her short car ride home in silence without her usual CD music. She was lost in thought and not a little regret and a few tears had started in her eyes as she pulled into her own driveway. Yes, demanding House's resignation was the right move.

She needed to get past this. She just had to conquer her feelings; those of anger, regret and, most deeply buried, love. For she still loved Gregory House more than anyone else she'd ever met.

Cuddy found herself still looking for him every morning as she sat in her office. She would wait for him to cross the lobby, his gait heavy, his expression dour.

She would see a particular shade of blue that would remind her of the vivid color of his eyes and that would send her running to the restroom to avoid bursting into tears. She longed to hear the sound of his voice speaking to her softly as he held her in his arms after they'd made love.

And if she was in a particularly masochistic mood, she would go over their lovemaking sessions in her mind, the look of him with his eyes closed, the feel of him inside her, filling her utterly and completely, the smell of him, the sound of his grunting and deep moans mixing with her own cries of passion. And then afterward, lying contentedly in his arms, listening to the sounds of his breathing and the thunder of his heart beating in his chest.

The sooner Gregory House left her sphere of day-to-day experience, the sooner she could try to forget him and move on with her life.

She entered the house, her babysitter Marina already had on her coat in anticipation of a quick exit. Her own daughter had a school function and Marina had it pre-arranged with her employer so that she could be on time.

Cuddy walked Marina to the door and let her out but quickly turned back to Rachel who had started screaming almost as soon as she'd walked in.

Picking her crying daughter up in her arms, Cuddy paced back and forth across the floor trying to soothe her child. The sound of the doorbell was a relief for her as she rushed to open the door in her haste to welcome Marina back, even if only for a few minutes while the other woman retrieved whatever she'd forgotten when she'd left the first time.

Throwing wide the door without even looking, Cuddy momentarily stood transfixed as the corporeal form of her secret dreams and heartfelt regrets stood on her front porch. Cuddy's minute pause was all the permission needed as House barged his way past her into the living room.

"House! Get out!"

"Not until we talk."

"Get out or I'll call the cops!"

"Really? Don't think your board of directors will be pleased with that. You having your hospital's best asset landed in the pokey."

"Out! Now!"

"No."

House stood his ground as did Cuddy although Rachel's continued screaming made it more difficult for her to do so.

"Rachel! Stop it!" House yelled.

The child immediately hushed, a few quiet sniffs mixed with several hiccups the only remaining vestiges of her crying jag.

"House!"

"Gimme," he said in a quieter tone, setting his cane down against the back of the couch.

As soon as House stretched forth his hands, Rachel began violently squirming in her mother's arms, making it impossible for her to keep a grip on her daughter. She reluctantly transferred Rachel to House.

As soon as she was within his grasp, Rachel immediately settled. The child buried herself against his warm chest, laying one small hand against him at the same time as she placed the thumb of her other hand into her bow-shaped mouth.

Cuddy suddenly felt overwhelmed. There, in the exact position she had dreamed herself in so many nights since their break-up, lay her beloved daughter, her eyelids already drooping with the comfort and security she obviously felt within House's embrace.

"At least one of the Cuddy women missed me," House said in a low voice.

"House . . ."

"Ah, ah," House said, shushing her. "First things first."

He turned and began limping toward the child's bedroom. Cuddy followed, taking note of the increased irregularity of his gait.

House was no longer on Vicodin. There was no way he would be limping this badly if he were still taking the painkiller.

She watched spellbound as House placed her daughter in her crib, gently pulling her blanket over her shoulders and placing her favorite stuffed toy in her arms. He paused for a moment, hovering over the sleeping child, gently stroking Rachel's soft curls.

When he turned to face her again, his eyes held an expression of longing, the likes of which Cuddy had never seen. It was there only for a moment before the more familiar mask fell again as he silently bustled her out of her daughter's bedroom.

House stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Cuddy had not retreated so that House's forward movement brought them standing to within inches of one another.

For a second, Cuddy thought that he would kiss her. For more than a second, she earnestly wanted him to.

"We need to talk," House said flatly.

Cuddy mimed for him to follow and silently led the way back out to the living room.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

House's labored footfall followed Cuddy's light step down the hallway. The pain in his right leg was really bad tonight, firing through his ragged thigh muscle like white hot pellets from a shotgun blast. He was relieved to be walking behind her. It denied her the ability to study his amplified hobble more closely.

It also gave him the opportunity to scrutinize the curves of her generous ass as she preceded him to the living room.

House shook his head to clear it. He needed to focus, to be absolutely clear. And memories of placing his hands on her wide, curving hips, taking her from behind, moving as one . . . Enough!

How unfortunate that their verbal communication could not mimic their physical one. How often when they were together had so many important things gone unsaid between them.

And how different it was when they were together sexually. For when they were in each other's arms they were nakedly honest in a way that went far beyond their unclothed bodies. The manner in which they responded to one another, perfectly measured, uniquely honed. Words were unnecessary in their seamless union of give and take, expressing themselves through intense eye contact, touch, taste, sound and smell.

That singular wholeness was what House found himself missing the most during their five-week imposed separation. Even more than the sex itself, transcendent though it had always been, he grieved the lost sense of oneness, the splendor in connection and the heartfelt sense of belonging that was repeatedly and profoundly instilled within their every sexual encounter.

But since their breakup, Cuddy's propensity to shun confrontation and his own to avoid what was painful had created an impasse between them, so wide and so deep that House was no longer sure that it could ever be traversed.

A terrible, shattering loneliness suffocated his body and choked his heart. There was an emptiness within him now that it seemed nothing could fill, not alcohol, nor meaningless sex, endless partying, personal manipulations, nor even his post breakup two-week dalliance with Vicodin.

For while he continued to drink, leaning heavily on the alcohol to numb the pain he felt within the hollow depths of his soul, he'd kicked his Vicodin addiction once more. He needed to keep his brilliant mind constantly occupied and the deadening effect of the Vicodin had become more of a hindrance in that regard.

So he'd quit again, this time on his own without benefit of Mayfield or its doctors. It had suddenly become clear to him that everything in his life must, by necessity, be accomplished on his own. He'd finally learned the valuable yet ugly lesson that he could count on no one save for himself. Everyone he'd ever loved had abandoned him in the end; his parents, Stacey, even his best friend, James Wilson and now, the final, most lethal blow, Lisa Cuddy.

For five weeks he'd avoided her and the pain she had already wrought. And for five weeks, her fear of an altercation with him allowed him to do so.

But no more. Cuddy's email from this afternoon requesting his resignation called for immediate and decisive action.

The email had made it obvious to him that she was, like the guilty perpetrator of a crime, attempting to dispose of all the evidence of their romantic entanglement. Whether it was because she was ashamed of the way she'd felt for him or because she felt guilty that she'd never really loved him, House did not know. What he had realized was that he was the final piece of evidence and therefore, needed to be gotten rid of quickly.

Cuddy had called all the shots from the very beginning, from dumping her fiancé Lucas to pursuing the romance with House to swearing he did not need to change yet demanding he make changes at every turn.

And her refusal to speak to him at all since she had called an end to it, bespoke of a fear within her that House found difficult to reconcile with the woman with whom he'd fallen in love. Cuddy was running fast, blind and scared out of her wits.

House saw it so clearly now that everything thus far in their relationship and even their breakup had been played according to her terms. He'd not been allowed to speak, to argue, to fight for the love they once shared; probably because Cuddy knew in her heart that she would be unable to put up much resistance against the all encompassing force that was Gregory House.

Like a sapling in a hurricane, Cuddy would necessarily bend to his more formidable opposition. So she shrank from him and any arguments or emotions he had that ran contrary to her own decisions and actions.

And so far he'd let her get away with it.

But House was no longer willing to wallow in his self-pity to the exclusion of everything else, to go down without a word or without a fight.

Today's email was only the final salvo in their undeclared war. But if she thought he was going to simply bow out gracefully, she had another think coming.

House had come to confront her with no idea what he would say or do. He only knew that he had to come. Cuddy's practice of dropping bombs and obliterating her targets from a safe distance must stop. It was time her eyes were opened to the level of destruction she caused. And he was just the man to make her face that truth.

He continued to limp behind her, still admiring the rhythmic swaying of her hips that seemed to dance in time to the beat of his heart.

Cuddy reached the living room, wheeling quickly around to face him. House immediately dropped his eyes to the floor in an effort to conceal his more recent lustful thoughts, as if his eyes, mirrors to his raw emotions, would give too much away.

But avoiding her gaze merely emboldened Cuddy as she falsely assumed he'd begun to lose his nerve.

"What House? You came all the way over here, now what? Say what you have to say and get the hell out!"

House's cobalt gaze rose determinedly up from the floor, meeting her eyes and searing them with a liquid blue heat that was undeniable and inextinguishable. In that instant, Cuddy knew with startling clarity that the storm had finally come. She also knew, a moment too late, that she had underestimated him . . . again.

"Oh I'll say what I came here to say all right. Don't worry that you'll miss anything. Unlike last time, I won't leave anything out."

"Fine," she said in a slightly more subdued tone. "I – I suppose this has to do with the email I sent this afternoon?" She took a step toward him, vainly attempting to bolster her sinking confidence with an artificial bravado.

When House spoke, his words came out in a rumble, his voice low, soft and dangerous. "No. This is about finding out exactly when you became such an incredible lying coward."


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

Cuddy felt her ankles begin to tremble in her pumps. The look House was giving her from beneath his brow was just as powerful as the quiet thunder of his words. He could not have been more forbidding than if he'd shouted at her.

But there was a reason Lisa Cuddy had become one of the youngest female administrators for a major hospital. For whenever her confidence had been shaken, she would rally her nerve, exuding more self-assurance than she really felt.

She took another quaking step forward, narrowing her eyes to slits as she spoke.

"Just who the hell do you think you are? Barging in here, into my house and calling me names?"

"Oh, I know who I am. At least, now I do. But you? Not so much."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Cuddy's eyes flashed violet with the increase in her wrath and the heady scent of her perfume washed over him, making House feel slightly dizzy. She was close now, close enough that the desire to reach out and grab her, force his tongue into her mouth and bend her body over the back of the couch was nearly overwhelming.

He wanted her so badly, he could almost taste her.

Fortunately for him, deflection, his age-old accomplice, came to his rescue.

House tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly as he straightened his body to his full, intimidating height. "How bad do you want me right now? Your nipples look like they're as hard as diamonds."

Cuddy's reaction was immediate and for him, wholly unsurprising. She stepped back while sputtering, "You son-of-a bitch!"

"Now THAT'S the Lisa Cuddy we know and love. But remember, it takes a bitch to recognize another one's son."

He moved forward. When he spoke again his voice was smooth, seductive. "Do you want me to take you right now? If memory serves, the couch wasn't exactly comfortable but it did stand up to some very violent pounding."

"Touch me and I'll scream," Cuddy said through clenched teeth. Her heart was racing for at his words she felt a considerable heat build in her lower abdomen. She _did_ want him. And the cocky bastard knew it.

House took a step back, a soft chuckle sounding in his throat. "Again if memory serves, you always did do a lot of screaming when I touched you." He waved her off as he collected himself. "Don't flatter yourself. I didn't come here for that."

Cuddy's shoulders dropped ever so slightly and she exhaled a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. If she had been completely truthful with herself, a part of her, a very large part of her, was slightly disappointed that House was not going to make good on his threat.

She had felt her nipples tighten as he'd moved closer to her and her stomach dropped to her knees when his words brought to mind the enthusiastic encounters they'd shared on that couch; the times when she just couldn't wait to get him into the bedroom before they released their animal instincts upon one another in a haze of moaning, sweating passion.

Cuddy's voice still shook, partly from fear, partly with desire as she said, "What did you come here for?"

House sighed heavily. "Don't you think you OWE me a few minutes of your precious time? Don't I at least deserve that much? You never gave me a chance . . . not during our relationship and especially not the night you came over to my apartment, accused me of popping Vicodin and broke up with me."

"You DID take the Vicodin. You . . ."

"As I already admitted to you," he said, cutting across her. "I told you the truth and you still penalized me for it."

"House, the Vicodin wasn't the issue. It was never the issue. I told you . . ."

"What you told me, everything you ever said to me were lies."

"When did I ever lie to you?"

While the ghost of a smile flitted across House's lips, his eyes took on a hollow, aching look.

"How much time have you got?" he said as he squared his stance, fully expecting Cuddy to waylay him with a verbal assault. When she did not reply, he went on.

"First, you lied that I didn't need to change, that you accepted me as I was, as I am. But Cuddy, what I am is . . . an addict," it was still difficult for him to say, to admit, even to himself. "And addicts slip. They start using again."

"That's NOT why we broke up," Cuddy began.

"Well WE never did breakup," House said. "YOU broke up with me. One slip and you slammed the door in my face. Didn't I deserve another chance?"

Cuddy let out an exasperated sigh. "For once this is NOT about what you deserve."

"And that's probably the first honest thing you've said since this whole thing began," House shot back, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Cuddy leaned forward, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "As usual, you seem to have all the answers already. Why don't you tell me why we broke up?"

House looked at her, his blue gaze searing a pathway to her very soul. "You broke up with me because you didn't . . ." he paused, turning his head to the side and looking skyward, as if for redemption. "You never loved me."

The tears stung Cuddy's eyes in an instant, coming upon her so quickly that she could not control their fast, fluid cascade down her cheeks. Her voice nearly a whisper, she said, "That's not true. I did love you."

"No," House said, turning his eyes to her once more in an accusatory glare. "Maybe you _thought_ so. But if you did, then you weren't just lying to me. You were lying to yourself. There's a difference between love and need. Real love accepts, need wants," he was speaking quietly, the rough sound of his voice sending shockwaves down her spine. "I'm an addict, I know."

"Since the beginning, you needed me to be someone else for you," he said. "And when I couldn't do that perfectly, in all the ways you required, you left. You never loved me. You only needed me." House's voice caught slightly as he said this last.

"And you?" Cuddy said, self-righteous anger blazing in her eyes. "Didn't you NEED me?"

"Yes. I needed you." His voice became a whisper. "And . . . I loved you."

Cuddy stood rooted to the spot, stunned at his stark profession of emotion, the proof of which she sought and found in his unfaltering cerulean gaze.

And yet her heart broke open in her chest for his use of the word in the past tense was anything but lost on her.

"You were right Cuddy. In every relationship there will be pain," House was speaking slowly now, as if each word, each syllable were an effort, as if he wanted to get it just right. "But there will also be a certain level of disappointment too. And that's what you can't handle."

He suddenly turned and limped several paces away from her. "God, I don't know why I didn't see it before" the pain in his voice was like a cord tangibly woven through his words. "You're like my father. Completely inflexible to imperfection and disappointment."

Cuddy flashed back for a moment, to a day years ago when House admitted that he'd hated his father. It slowly dawned on her that his father had hurt him significantly, perhaps irrevocably. And that damaged heart now saw her as the obvious extension of that emotional pain.

She had hurt him in the same way, by judging him too harshly before she'd even given him a chance. She had done it to protect herself, to protect her child, to protect the fragile world she had built for herself regardless of the injury it would inflict on House, upon the man whom she had professed her love.

And now it was all too late. For they could never go back when so much suffering had transpired between them.

"Everyone has to live up to your standards," his words intruded upon her thoughts once more as he moved closer to her again. "But people can't always live up to the ideals we set for them, especially when you set the bar as high as you do."

"That's not fair . . ." Cuddy began.

"Isn't it? No, I suppose it's not. But then again, you haven't been very fair to me . . . or to yourself."

House stretched out his hand. Cuddy found she could not resist the magnetic force that held her motionless while he cradled her small face with his fingers, gently brushing his thumb across her cheek. There was an overwhelming sadness in this gesture. And in his eyes.

"Can't you see that you automatically set people up to fail? When they aren't as perfect and systematically structured as you want them to be, need them to be, they'll disappoint you every time. And that's when you push them away; simply because they didn't live up to your superhuman standards."

Cuddy stumbled backward away from his touch. The crushing weight of the truth in his words was taking all the oxygen out of the room. Her mouth gaped open like a fish out of water, desperately gasping for air.

"A lot of that is my fault too, House continued, casting his eyes to the floor again. "I tried so hard to change for you, to be the man I thought you wanted me to be." When he raised his eyes to her face once more, the sorrow had been replaced by anger and more than a little bit of betrayal. "I couldn't maintain that level of hypocrisy. It goes against everything I've ever stood for or believed."

"I never asked you to . . ."

"No. You never asked. You demanded."

House sighed again and when he looked back at her, it was as if he had exhaled his anger as well.

"Your behavior pattern is set. As soon as the people in your life disappoint and fail you, you show them the door. That means that you'll never have anyone in your life for very long, not me, not Rachel . . .

"Don't involve my daughter in this!" she said, her nostrils flaring, her fury alight in her eyes once more.

"You involved her the moment you took her in, fostered her, adopted her."

"I love my daughter!"

"Yeah, it's easy to love someone who doesn't talk back to you or fight you or isn't old enough to have a separate personality from you to question your thoughts and actions. But what happens when she gets older and her life starts to go in a different direction? What will you do when she starts flunking classes or having sex with boys only because they have floppy hair or . . ."

"Rachel won't do that!"

"You can't know that."

"I can raise her right, the way I want!"

"You can't control every eventuality, don't you understand? You can't control other people! And you can't blame them when they do something beyond your control!"

"I can punish her when she's wrong!"

Cuddy inhaled sharply. The words had leapt from her mouth before she had a chance to think about what she was saying.

House nodded almost imperceptibly. "Like you did me? Is that what this is all about? You meting out the punishment you think I deserve because I disappointed you? Because I did something wrong?"

Cuddy slowly looked at him, taking him in completely with her eyes. He looked tired, hurt, but still defiant. He was still fighting back. He was still House.

But he'd also just given her an opening, one which would, if she took advantage of it, debase her still more yet might well enable her to cripple her adversary. She made her decision in an instant.

A small smile of triumph curved the corners of her mouth as she said, "Any punishment I could give you wouldn't hold a candle to the penalty you lay on yourself House. And I appreciate life too much to ever attempt suicide."

Checkmate.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

It was House's turn to take a step back. Although she had once accused him of knowing exactly where to stick the point in and twist the blade, it was obvious now that Cuddy was just as adept in ferociously and grievously wounding her opponent.

House had let her in, had opened his heart to her. And this was how she repaid him, by attacking him where he was most vulnerable, by flaunting his own terrible self-loathing, his inability to ever feel loved, even or especially by himself.

He looked at her again with eyes that seemed to be stripped of impediment. He saw her for the flawed, insanely controlling, spiteful woman that she really was.

And faced with all of that, he still loved her.

For House had never deluded himself into thinking that Lisa Cuddy was someone she was not. He knew both her strengths and limitations. And he accepted them equally as part of the same beautiful yet fragile, fascinating, multi-dimensional, problematic woman that stood before him now.

In fact the only thing that had come as a shock to him was the apparent effortlessness in which Cuddy had cut him loose. He thought she cared enough for him that she would be willing to weather at least a few storms by his side. She said she did. But then again, he reminded himself bitterly, everybody lies.

The fact that he had believed her, perhaps because he wanted to so very badly, proved not only that everybody lies but that, most importantly, they lie to themselves as well.

Yet House had been trying, really trying for quite some time to let the scales fall from his eyes. The first, most important step had been for him to detox from the Vicodin. Part and parcel with that decision was his self-realization that he was, indeed, an addict and would always be an addict.

Even long after he had kicked the Vicodin, House recognized that like any junkie, he would be looking to score his next fix, probably for the rest of his life. He also knew that he must be the one who made the choice of what he would allow himself to become addicted to. Whether it was alcohol, meaningless sex, monster trucks, what have you, he and he alone must choose his poison.

That's when the uncomfortable thought crossed his mind; was he using Cuddy as a replacement for the Vicodin? Without hesitation, House knew in his heart that while he did need her, craved her, wanted her, he also truly loved her.

It had taken him nearly the entire five weeks alone to figure this out and now that he knew, he simply needed the impetus to go and tell Cuddy. But an overwhelming fear had gripped him, nearly overshadowing the love he felt for her.

His old nemesis, self-hatred spiraling into self-destruction had come crashing back upon him. And yet, within the vortex of his downward spiral, there was comfort. He had spent so much of his life there, loathing himself, hating not only his actions and words but his very being, his very existence, he had spent so much of his life in that place, that it was hard for him to imagine anything else, anything better.

House was a recovering addict, emotionally mercurial and secretive about his feelings, an arrogant, needing to be right, egomaniacal ass. He was, in short, completely unworthy for someone like Lisa Cuddy. Certainly, not a good role model or father figure for her daughter.

And yet, he understood Cuddy like no one else, saw past her walls, through her deflections and fears to the person inside, to the frightened little girl afraid of rejection and failure. His own terrified boy called out to her and she answered him with a cry of her own.

Yet, when the two voices combined, the shrieks became music that was both wonderful and undeniable. They each could heal the other, if they would only trust and allow them access to their wounded souls.

House eyed her suspiciously. She had hurt him . . . again. His immediate reaction was to lash out and take his vengeance upon her as well.

But House knew the answer did not lie in escalation. Rather, his best option was to attempt to mollify the scared, angry child within himself. The best way he knew to do that was to offer it a puzzle to solve. Gregory House had always liked puzzles.

"Is that why you dumped me and now you're trying to bury me as quickly as possible, as if I, we, never existed? Do my demons frighten you that much?"

Cuddy was struck again to the very core of her soul by this unfamiliar tack, House's naked emotional sincerity. In the face of his aching truth, she had no choice but to answer him honestly.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

She turned and retreated several paces before she could look him in the eye, afraid of the expression on his face, the visual veracity that she knew she would see there that emanated from his heart.

With her back to him, she suddenly felt unencumbered. She could confess her sins to him and receive absolution. In her heart, she fanned a small flame of hope that he could forgive her, pardon her fears and weaknesses.

She had thus far been unable to do that for herself. If House could give her that, after the pain she inflicted upon him, then perhaps she could finally find release.

"When you went away to Mayfield . . . I thought I would lose my mind too. I wanted . . . I wanted to die. If I hadn't had Rachel, I don't know what I would've done."

The tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks. She made no attempt to stop them now, knowing that it would be futile for her to try.

"I felt like it was my fault," she continued. "Because I didn't see it coming. You're so brilliant. How could you ever get yourself into a hole that you could not get out of? I never thought . . . I never thought that I could lose you like that. That YOU would be the means to destroy yourself."

Cuddy struggled to meter her breath, slowing her respiration in order to try and keep her pounding heart contained within her breast.

"I saw it again that night you came over after you'd gotten drunk and missed my awards dinner. You'd lost a patient and you were imploding. You told me you didn't care House. But that's a lie. You've always cared. You always will care. And that's when I realized that it could happen again. And I would never see it coming."

She turned to face him only to find that he had turned away from her. The dim lighting accentuated his lean, stooped frame, his head hanging low in front of him. She stepped closer and saw that his shoulders were rising and falling rapidly, not in time to his breathing but as if he were . . .

"House?"

He shook his head and one hand left his side to move to his face.

Cuddy all but forgot her own tears as she stood mesmerized by the quietly sobbing form of the man she loved, whom she still loved even after all that had happened between them.

"House? Please. Look at me."

He shook his head again, wiping his face with his hand and raising his head. He slowly turned to face her.

House was magnificent in his pride, wearing it like a robe that he wrapped about himself in the silence and heartbreak of the room. He had collected himself, had composed his features to maintain his sense of masculinity and dignity. The only give away to his emotional vent were his tear-stained cheeks and his large eyes which had turned the color of dark sapphire, edged in silver tears.

Cuddy knew that she had never loved House more than at this moment in time. Her heart was filled with love . . . and fear for she also knew that she was never more in danger of losing him forever.

"I can't change Cuddy. It's too late."

"It's not too late House," she said, earnestly searching his face, his eyes for some sign of hope. "It's not too late for you . . . or for us."

House raised his eyes to her face, taking in for the millionth time the delicate features, porcelain complexion, expressive eyes, smooth lips.

"No. I can't go through that again . . . I can't." House's voice had become hoarse with emotion. "This IS really the only me you get. I can't change."

He paused again. A single tear trickled from his right eye as he gazed at her with a soulful expression.

"And neither can you."

House made to turn away but Cuddy grabbed him by the arm. She felt his bicep flex under her fingertips.

"You're wrong House. You're right about everything else but you're wrong about me, about us and even, I think, about yourself."

"Let me go."

"No. I heard what you had to say, now you need to listen to me."

House shook his head. "I can't . . . I can't. I can't go through this again. I can't let myself . . ." He paused and turned to face her once more. "I can't let myself feel like that again. I can't let myself . . . love you like that again. Because it hurts too much. When you change your mind . . ."

"House, I never changed my mind. I was frightened, yes. I ran away from you. I hurt you AND myself," Cuddy said tearfully, "But I never changed my mind about you. I loved you. I still love you. I'll always love you."

"It's not enough."

"Then what is? Tell me!" Her voiced raised an octave as she spoke more loudly.

"I don't know."

"House if you do this, if you walk away now because of your fear of pain," Cuddy had lowered her voice once more, "Then you'll continue to let pain and fear run your life." She slid her hand up his arm, along his shoulder to gently touch his face. He trembled at the delicacy of her contact.

"Is that what you want? Is that what you really want?"

"I don't have a choice."

"You do. You have a choice right now. I'm giving you that choice. I love you."

Cuddy's fingers clasped the side of his face and gently tugged. House lowered his head and as he did so, closed his eyes. Fear was replaced by need, by want, by emotion, by love.

He kissed her.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

House's kiss was light, yet potent. When Cuddy responded in kind, House deepened the kiss.

A small sigh escaped Cuddy's throat as she opened her mouth to receive his tongue. It wandered lazily between her lips, as if there were all the time in the world in this finite moment between them.

She leaned into him, raising her arms to wrap securely around his neck, carelessly tapping the edge of his collar with her fingers and pressing her breasts firmly into his body. Cuddy lost herself utterly to the moment, allowing herself to be walked back toward the couch by House's steady, forward momentum.

She sighed again as she felt House's tongue gently stroke the inside of her mouth. How she'd existed these five weeks without his kiss she realized only now that she'd never known.

Cuddy needed this man like the very air she breathed. His kiss, his embrace, his slow, gentle movements were like life itself and as his arms wrapped round her, gently cradling her as he lowered her onto the couch, she felt that without him she would only exist in a half life.

House never broke the kiss as he eased Cuddy back onto the couch. She was responding to him enthusiastically and he felt his heart soar within him as he languidly reclined on top of her.

While his heart was soaring, his mind was spinning. So many thoughts jockeyed for position within his brain; so many emotions clashed in the turmoil that had started in his chest.

They had settled nothing. They were merely sliding back into their old routine and giving into their physical needs and desires.

Paramount in his whirling thoughts was the notion that he could not recall when he'd wanted something so badly. Her taste, her smell, her body pressing against him, her vocal responses all drove him onward. His loneliness ached to be assuaged within the comforting warmth of her body and embrace.

And every time he kissed her, everywhere he touched her, Cuddy's hunger for him increased as well. Liquid heat was building from the tops of her thighs to just below her navel. She spread her legs wider as she began to fumble with the buttons of her blouse.

House felt her moving underneath him, opening her blouse, feeling her way underneath his shirt, shifting her weight to give him clearer access above the hem of her short, tight skirt.

It felt like falling down. The feeling of his own lack of control seemed to shake him to the very marrow of his bones. Nevertheless, his body pressed his advantage, heedless of the hesitancy of his thoughts.

But this wasn't, couldn't be right. Even though it felt so good, she was making him feel so good, the prospect of anguish for himself or Cuddy or the both of them together was too high to ignore.

House's heightened preservation instinct kicked in as his defenses began to come up. He started to disengage himself.

Cuddy felt a decided mood shift. House was gently but resolutely pushing away from her. He was starting to think, to overanalyze the situation. And that particular propensity did not bode well for a successful conclusion to their current activities.

But Cuddy wasn't about to give up her now aching physical need for him without a fight. She could feel the readiness of his body and whether his mind was currently connected or not did not matter to her.

All she need do was to bring him to the point of no return. House was nearly there already. If she could gain the physical upper hand, then she would be able to have what she'd so desperately craved since he'd shown up on her doorstep that night; or more precisely what she'd been needing for over five weeks.

She wanted him right now, yearned to feel him moving inside her so intensely that nothing else mattered.

House moved his lips from her mouth both for a breath of air and to speak.

"No," he said.

Cuddy forced her mouth over his once more. He groaned as she moved her hand under his shirt and slid her fingers along his ribcage. Her skin began to tingle as she felt him begin to drive his hips forward in a smooth, rolling action. He was so close now, so close. If she could just push him a little farther . . .

Her hand snaked down between their undulating bodies. When her fingertips brushed his beltline, House moaned into her mouth, more loudly this time.

She smiled against his lips as she began to undo his fly. She had him now.

House's whole frame shuddered with need. Cuddy's legs had wrapped round his hips, locking him against her as he thrust more vigorously into her. She was getting ready to open his zipper, in moments he would be inside her, held in her embrace, moving together.

He spoke again, "Don't."

Just as she was about to take hold of him, House grabbed her hand, arresting its progress. With his other hand, he pushed lightly but firmly against Cuddy's shoulder. With this action, he successfully raised up and away from her, nearly vaulting himself to the other end of the couch, panting as he drew back.

He was still gasping for air, his eyes rolling back as he closed them when he said, "I said no."

Cuddy, denied her prize, sullenly slid to her side of the couch, pressing her back against the arm and wrapping her arms around her legs trying to still the boiling desire within her.

"What House? What is it now?" she said resentfully.

"You still don't get it do you? Nothing's changed."

"Why would you say that? Everything's changed."

House rolled his head and his eyes forward. He tilted his chin down to lock eyes with her from beneath his lowered brow. This was the look she had no defense against. His eyes had taken on the exact color that had haunted her dreams for the past five weeks, or more accurately, the past twenty plus years since she'd first met him.

"No Cuddy. We're still talking need here. Not acceptance. Not love."

"Didn't seem to make a difference to you a few minutes ago," she said, a harsh tinge to her voice. She gave him an appraising look, allowing her eyes to wander below his belt. "And it doesn't seem to be making any difference right now either."

"I do want you. Of course I do," he said quietly. "But not if I can't have all of you." He stood up and reached behind the couch for his cane.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Cuddy spat, her sexual frustration coloring her speech. "I'm here, right now. You can have me. All of me."

"No. That's not what you're offering." House said. Still standing, he leaned over her. Cuddy felt the blood rush to her cheeks as her body once more responded to his close proximity.

"Until I can have your body AND this," he placed his hand on her head and then brought it down, stroking her hair. "And more importantly, this," House placed his hand over her heart, "It just won't work for me, for us."

As he started to turn away, Cuddy reached out and again grabbed his arm.

"House, please don't go." She tilted her head slightly allowing her bangs to gently fall into her eyes, her expression turning sultry. "Stay with me tonight."

House looked down into Cuddy's wide, blue-green gaze. The urge to kiss her again nearly overwhelmed him.

"Cuddy, you can't have makeup sex with me when we haven't even made up yet."

He stepped back as her hand reluctantly slid down his arm. When she reached his hand, she clasped it determinedly with her own, maintaining her contact, her connection with him.

"Ball's in your court," he said. "Or more accurately, the balls are in my court," he half smiled. "And that's where they're going to stay from now on. But you DO have a decision to make."

"What decision? House, what are you talking about?" Her voice sounded shrill, bouncing off the walls of the nearly empty room.

House released a sigh and shook his head. "It's all or nothing at all Cuddy. That's what I'm offering. That's the only thing I'll accept in return. And that's what you have to decide."

"I need you in my life House. You're like the air I breathe. You're . . ."

"No Cuddy. I can't just fill your needs. I can't be your fix, something you indulge in when you have an itch to scratch and can spare the time. That's just not good enough, not nearly good enough. Not for me, not for you, not for Rachel."

"I'll never give you the picket fence or ride up to rescue you on a white horse," he said as he slipped his hand from her slackened grasp. "But I will give you everything. All that I am. But you have to accept me for WHO I am, the man who's the most screwed up person on the planet. You have to . . ." his eyes met hers like two scorching blue flames. "Love me. As much as I love you. Even more, preferably."

House turned and started limping toward the door. Cuddy rose from the couch.

"Won't you stay House?" Cuddy said in a last ditch effort. "Stay tonight. We can talk everything out in the morning."

House turned in the entryway, his long, slender fingers grasping the doorknob.

"No. You have my offer. That's the offer that's currently on the table," he said. "Everything, all the love and pain and sex and heartache, highs and lows a messy relationship with an emotional cripple like me will bring. I can't promise you anything more than that. I can't promise you happiness. But I can promise you it will be honest. It will be real."

He took a breath and continued. "Or nothing. No surprises, no arguments just the security of routine and a boredom so profound that it will crush your very soul. Because if you choose the latter, I won't fight you. I'll hand in my resignation. I won't be able to stay and you'll never let me go. We both know that."

"No House. I didn't think it through. I should never have asked . . ."

House raised his hand and Cuddy fell silent.

"In your heart, you know I'm right." He paused for what seemed like an eternity. "So you have some thinking to do. You need time. I'm going home to give you that time. I can wait. But not forever. If you take too long, the decision will be made for you. I'm done fighting with you, fighting for you and this crazy, messed up thing that we call a relationship. It's time for you to fight, like you did last year with the insurance company. It's time to prove to me that this is something you want just as much, that I'm what you want and you're willing to meet me halfway, fight for what you want, what you believe in. Because if you can't believe that we can make it work then it never will and you'll always find another excuse to run away again. It's on you now Cuddy. It's all on you."

He stopped again, breathing heavily from the emotional import of his words. Then, quite suddenly, he gave her a look. His large, beautiful eyes were filled with such an aching passion that Cuddy's heart seemed to rise into her throat in response. The raw power of his gaze transcended time. It went around her and through her, enveloping her in the depth and purity of his emotion.

House was looking at her as if he would never see her again.

"Good night," he said.

Without another word, he turned the handle and limped through the door, leaving Cuddy standing alone and breathless in the middle of her darkened living room.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

House staggered into his apartment, immediately making his way over to the liquor cabinet to pour a triple shot of bourbon into a clouded water glass. He downed the amber liquid in one gulp, clapping the glass back onto the table and immediately pouring another.

There was something oddly satisfying in the way the alcohol burned its way down his throat. It echoed the way his unshed tears burned his eyes and how his aching heart smoldered within his chest.

He'd done it this time. He'd really lost her, lost her forever.

He'd pushed her too hard and too far, made her face her true self, her own narcissism, lies and manipulative needs. Cuddy mirrored and then rejected in House the very things she could not accept in herself. Her refusal to face the defects in her own character blinded her to House's authentic self and to how deeply in love with her he truly was.

House filled yet another glass. Was this number three or four? He'd already lost count, not that it really mattered. What had mattered to him was gone, the woman he loved, the hope his love for her had instilled in him and now, because he had given her only an all or nothing alternative, most likely his job at PPTH.

In the space of an evening, House had irrevocably lost everything that he held dear. More importantly, he'd forsaken what he believed for some time to be his last, best chance for happiness and the vision of love that would redeem him from the unrelenting misery his life had become.

He'd listened to his shrink's advice, he'd made connections, he'd trusted others. And now, because of the trust he had extended, he had been devastatingly betrayed and was left utterly alone.

House turned and limped over to the couch taking the bottle and his once more empty glass with him. He set about infusing a nearly continuous stream of bourbon into his system, not allowing any stray thoughts to prevent him from running full tilt toward oblivion or disaster, whichever came first.

In a short space of time, House had emptied the bottle. Undaunted, he grabbed his keys and somehow successfully navigated his car the few blocks' drive to a local dive bar.

The dark interior of the saloon perfectly matched the gloom that shrouded his heart. House was not overly disappointed when the bartender, correctly assessing his already drunken state, refused to serve him a drink. Tossing back a nightcap on top of the bottle of bourbon he'd already consumed was not the reason House had ventured forth into society.

He found what he'd actually been looking for in the far corner of the bar; a solitary occupant at a small table pounding down drinks almost as zealously as House had been earlier. House hobbled drunkenly over to the table and sat down.

The man seated across from him was built like a fireplug, short and stocky with large hands and an evident chip adorning his broad, ape-like shoulders if his two-fisted drinking habits were an indication of anything.

House knew that the disparity in their height alone might well be enough to rile the smaller man to violence. However, he felt that a few, well-chosen words, casting aspersions on the man's parentage and particularly, his mother, would seal the deal.

Once again, his keen powers of observation did not let him down. House didn't have to wait long at all for the man's reaction. The first soubriquet was barely past his lips when the smaller man leapt to his feet, overturning the table as he did so, and flung himself upon House, punching every inch of him his fists could make contact with.

The increasing darkness as House slipped into unconsciousness felt familiar and soothing. The man's hammering fists served as his justifiable punishment for ever allowing himself to hope, to dare to dream that he could be loved. How someone so unworthy as Gregory House could ever warrant even a modicum of happiness was so obviously foreign and outrageous that the very idea was simply laughable.

In fact, House would have laughed at the thought himself if he hadn't been spitting out his own blood at the time.

After another immeasurable amount of time, House woke up to the feeling of being wet and having his shoulder shaken. Someone had apparently taken it upon himself to pull the angry fireplug off him. Someone else had ushered him back to consciousness with a good splash of cold water in the face. Judging by the dampness of his clothes, the second someone had liberally used a few gallons of water.

Several hands helped House to stand up. His mission to have his self-imposed sentence accomplished, House decided to just go home. But when he finally stood upright, he could not find his keys in any of his pockets. The bartender jangled the keys just out of his reach and informed him that he'd already called for a cab. House was too tired at that point to argue and accepted the ride without complaint.

When the cab pulled up in front of his building 20 minutes later, he threw the driver the fare along with a substantial tip and slowly, painfully made his way into his apartment.

He made a beeline for his bathroom to assess and approve the physical damages to himself and to grab a shower. The hot water felt good on his bruised and battered face and limbs.

House toweled off and then limped naked down the hallway to his bedroom where he pulled on a fresh t-shirt and his pajama bottoms.

He looked forlornly at his empty bed as the ghosts of sex-with-Cuddy-past plagued his soul. Since the breakup he'd slept on her side of the bed and clutched a pillow covered in a linen case that he had refused to wash because it still held the smell of her perfume and shampoo.

House couldn't face sleeping alone in that huge bed after her final rejection tonight, not tonight.

He grabbed a blanket and the Cuddy-pillow from the bed and limped back to the living room where he ensconced himself on his couch. He began to feel drowsy while holding the television remote in one hand and massaging his over-taxed, throbbing right thigh with the other.

House had no idea how long he'd been asleep or even if he had been able to drift off at all when a sudden noise roused him.

Just as he was shaking his tender head to clear it, the noise came again and House catapulted himself off the couch.

For he had finally identified the sound.

Someone was knocking, no pounding, on his front door. He could say without a doubt that whoever it was, it was definitely not Wilson.

His heart fairly soared with the realization that, though firm, the knocking could only be created from a feminine hand.

He hurried as fast as his crippled leg and injured body would allow and without even looking, flung wide the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

She was absolutely astounded. House had been smiling, literally smiling, when he first opened the door. But as soon as he saw her standing there, his face fell more quickly than snow melting on a hot stove.

"What do you want?" he fairly snarled as he turned away from the door.

Remy Hadley, or Thirteen as House always called her, followed him into the apartment, closing the door behind her.

She quickly took note of the fresh bruises and the cut above his eye and asked, "What the hell happened to you?"

"None of your business. Now answer my question. Why are you here?"

"I came to update you on the patient," Thirteen began.

"You've never heard of the telephone?"

"We tried calling you, both the landline and your cell. You didn't answer either."

"Sometimes you have to be patient. You have to give a cripple more time to get to the phone."

"And sometimes cripples need to check their messages," she said as she pointed to the flashing light on House's answering machine.

Thirteen's gaze followed House as he moved stiffly toward the couch. House had done something to himself . . . again. That much was obvious.

Aside from the physical evidence she'd already noticed, for one thing, House never referred to himself as a cripple unless he was in the grips of a downward spiral. His tentative movements too relayed the information to Thirteen's keen eye that House was grappling with much more pain than usual.

But his demeanor, his actions and his sarcasm posted a clear "no entry" billboard that only the most obtuse person would fail to notice. And Remy was anything save obtuse.

She decided to focus on the matter at hand and hope that perhaps, the patient's sudden turn for the worse would derail House from his own current course of self immolation.

Thirteen saw this as a necessity. She felt strangely indebted to House, the man who first made her face her own mortality and then gave her a reason to live.

It had been her seemingly unfeeling boss who had been the only person to reach into her pit of despair and raise her up. Not by sympathizing or with professions of pity, but with ever-increasing, seemingly insurmountable medical challenges and by instilling in her, the will and the desire to leave something of value behind her after she had succumbed to the disease which would most likely cut her lifespan in half.

Thirteen knew House had done all this for her because he secretly cared. But she also knew that House would be the last person on earth to ever admit to that depth of feeling.

And just when she began to think that his actions had been an anomaly, House surprised her yet again. He had given Thirteen his solemn oath that when her time came, he would be with her at the very end and give her whatever she needed, including a lethal injection to relieve her of her pain if she asked it of him.

House again denied any sensitivity or emotional connection. Yet Thirteen inherently knew that his promise sprang from unwavering loyalty and the noblest feelings of deepest affection.

She had to reach out to the man who provided the means to redeem herself. She understood that the only way he would accept her help was if she responded in kind, without abhorrent pity in a manner that allowed him to pull himself out of the deep hole he had purposely fallen into.

The most reliable method of easing House's pain would be to engage his brilliant mind and fortunately, the patient's downturn could be just the necessary spark that would ignite his curiosity.

"House, all of our theories are off the table. The patient's running a temperature."

House raised an eyebrow in her direction and immediately regretted the action. Even so slight a movement irritated his bruised face.

"Why is my theory off the table? He could still have an autoimmune disease AND have picked up an infection at the hospital. He wasn't running a fever when he first came in."

"Foreman doesn't think so. He . . ."

"Foreman doesn't think so because Foreman doesn't think," House said flatly. "Gimme your cell phone."

"Why?"

"Because the battery in mine is dead and if he sees your number, he'll definitely pick up."

With a slight, triumphant smile, Thirteen handed House her phone. He stood up and walked toward the kitchen as he talked and then yelled into the phone.

But Thirteen wasn't listening. She was too busy feeling satisfied that her boss' current self-destruction had been offset by his re-interest in the case. And by House's concentrating his full attention and his anger on her ex-boyfriend Eric Foreman.

It pleased her vanity that she had been so swiftly able to accomplish her task of waylaying her boss. It also gratified her more than slightly that her ex was even now receiving one of House's infamous tongue lashings. She and Eric had argued over the patient's course of treatment until Foreman arrogantly put his foot down reminding her of all the reasons they broke up in the first place.

She was never going to allow herself to become involved with a close co-worker again. Robert Chase had been actively pursuing her but she was well aware that he was still in the throes of a sort of promiscuous revenge engendered by the breakup of his marriage. And Remy had no intention of becoming merely another notch on Chase's bedpost.

Remy wanted something more. After losing herself to her own self-destructive spiral of booze, drugs and random sex, she had, through House's influence, begun to climb back up to a more constructive, if not entirely optimistic outlook. She was taking better care of herself, eating better and exercising and she was wanting more out of the few years left in her life than she'd ever considered before.

She wanted love; a great heart-stopping, earth-shattering, rollercoaster ride of emotions and feelings and intimacy and sensuality and mind-blowing sex. She wanted romance. She wanted to love and be loved for who she really was, with all her flaws and shortcomings and she wanted the feeling to last for as long as the time that she had left.

Thirteen put her thoughts aside when she heard House coming back out of the kitchen. He held two cans of beer in one hand, in the other, her cell phone. He snapped the phone shut against his chin and tossed it back to her.

"Wanna beer?" he said.

"House, it's six o'clock in the morning."

"I'll take that as a no then."

Thirteen watched as House gingerly lowered himself onto the couch. He was obviously in a huge amount of pain.

Also blatantly obvious was the fact that he was not popping Vicodin as his team members had all assumed he had since his breakup with Lisa Cuddy. Thirteen realized that House would not be in this much discomfort if he were still on the pain-killer. And while alcohol abuse was not much of a step up from abusing Vicodin, it was at least a step away from his previous addiction. Remy had to give House credit at least for that much.

"I'll take the beer," she said as she seated herself comfortably on the couch next to House.

House handed her one and then popped the top on his own. The cold liquid poured down his throat in an almost bracing manner. He was feeling, if not pain free, at least a little more relaxed. He had just solved the case that his haughty, second in command was unable to solve and the alcohol from last night was still giving him a slight buzz.

He looked over at Thirteen and felt a companionable feeling toward her. God, she was brave. House knew his team had been doing their best to avoid him, particularly one-on-one confrontations, since Cuddy broke up with him. His ordinarily dark mood and aggression had been ratcheted up to 11 after his heart had been broken.

But here was Thirteen. The only one of his team members with the guts to come over to his apartment this early in the morning and risk awakening the lion in his den.

Or maybe she just drew the short straw.

"Couldn't get Chase to come with you this early in the morning? Was he afraid that I'd bite his head off?"

"Don't know," she replied matter of factly, "Chase hadn't come in yet."

House's eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. "Just you and Foreman working the night shift? You two rekindling . . .?"

"Taub was there too."

"That's only because he's Foreman's new roomie and bestest buddy. Answer my question."

"Then you answer mine," Thirteen said, smiling enigmatically before taking another sip of her beer.

"What question?"

"What happened to you?"

House turned away and Thirteen felt sure that he would either ignore the inquiry or kick her out.

But apparently House was far from finished with surprising her this morning.


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

"Bar fight," he said ruefully, his face still turned away from her. "I picked a fight."

"But why?"

House took a sip of his beer and looked down at the floor. "Quid pro quo Clarice," he said, turning to look at her devilishly through the corners of his eyes. "Admit it Desdemona, you and Foreman are making the beast with two backs again."

Thirteen smiled once more. The morning light streaming in through the blinds of House's front window cast a warm glow to her delicate features while throwing golden sparks in her lovely almond-shaped eyes.

"Ignoring your highly incongruent pop culture references," Thirteen began, as she gazed into House's now eager expression. "No. No I'm not."

"But you're thinking about it right? Or are you finally going to give in to Chase, 'The Gland from Ho-ey River?' Maybe the new nurse in Peds? Oh yeah, now she's totally hot. Please tell me you intend to film that girl-on-girl action and then friend me with it on Facebook."

Thirteen's smile widened. House was suddenly an enthusiastic little boy, one of his more decidedly charming personas for deflection. Yet she was wise enough not to be so easily deterred.

"Quid pro quo," she said.

House turned away a second time. He was extremely reticent to open himself up again, in any manner and to anyone particularly after last night's truth-telling session with Cuddy had basically blown up in his face.

And yet, Gregory House was nothing if not a curious man. And for some strange reason, he was, at this juncture, genuinely curious about Thirteen's personal drama.

Sometimes she was, like himself, closed off and inscrutable. Thirteen played her cards close to the vest which only served to pique House's curiosity even more. At other times and also like himself, she was wild and acted as if she didn't care about the possible ramifications of her actions.

He acutely sensed their innate connection, their similarities of personality and outlook.

But right now, House was not sure exactly where Thirteen stood. Was she purposely trying to be unfathomable? Or was she merely playing a game?

House realized he didn't particularly care which alternative was true. Whether she was playing a game or not didn't matter; House was. And this game in particular had come at a most opportune time. Through it, he could put aside his own heartache for a time and focus his full, not inconsiderable deductive skills upon Thirteen and her private entanglements.

The fact that she was bisexual only increased her catalog of potential partners under consideration, thereby deepening the mystery and his interest. Her avowed sexual orientation also augmented the possibility of more exciting personal fantasies for later, when he was alone.

House took another long pull from his beer as he came to his decision.

"I messed up. Again." He said. "Cuddy asked for my resignation yesterday."

"She what?"

House smiled ever-so-slightly at the sound of indignation in Thirteen's voice.

"Apparently, my mere presence makes her so uncomfortable she can't bear to have me anywhere near her anymore," House continued. "The hospital has always been her first concern, her only real . . ." he looked at the floor again. ". . . love," he almost spat the word. "She's not leaving. So I have to."

"That's totally unfair!"Thirteen said. "Not to mention illegal. That's a clear case of sexual harassment!"

House laughed. Only a few hours before, battered and bruised and completely without hope, he'd naturally assumed that he would never laugh again. And here was Thirteen and her righteous anger on his behalf and she'd made him laugh.

"Right. I have so much animal magnetism that she can't even stand to be in the same building with me for fear of wrapping her legs around me at the drop of a hat or a stethoscope." House said. He focused his attention on the turning can of beer in his hand as he casually flicked his wrist back and forth.

"With all the crap I've pulled over the years, my reputation and my history of drug addiction, Cuddy doesn't need an excuse," he continued. "I don't have a leg to stand on." With this last statement, he began rubbing his sore right leg.

His voice dropped lower as he looked away again. "And besides, I told her I'd go."

"What? Why?"

"Because I still . . ." His heart ached to think of it or to attempt to admit it to anyone else, so he changed tack. "I wanted to make it easier for her. If she can't stand to be around me and she can't stand to leave the hospital, the only rational choice is . . ."

"You're an idiot House!"

"What?" House said, completely taken aback.

"You played right into her hands. SHE lures you into a relationship, already knowing ahead of time that you're a recovering addict. Then when you have a slip, as all addicts do, SHE dumps you. Then when SHE decides that seeing you every day brings up too much of her own guilt, which is totally warranted by the way, SHE manipulates you into leaving! You're an idiot if you let her do that to you!"

House felt the bruise on his face sting as his jaw slackened. He hadn't looked at it that way before. His characteristic knee-jerk reaction, that he had been an ass and therefore deserved every bad thing he received, kicked in before he'd considered alternative possibilities.

"And why are you even trying to be rational about this?" Thirteen's high cheekbones colored in her wrath as her chest rose and fell with her increased respiration. "SHE'S not being rational at all. She hurt you and now she's being totally vindictive. Where's your righteous anger? Why aren't you fighting back in some secretive, under-handed, typical-for-you House way? Why do you keep taking your pain out on yourself by getting drunk and provoking bar fights? Why don't you direct some of that anger where it belongs? At Cuddy! At Wilson who did nothing but push you into a relationship less than a year after your release from a mental hospital, way before you were ready."

House narrowed his eyes, "Don't bring Wilson into this. None of this was his fault."

"No? Well maybe if he was more interested in being a real friend to you instead of an enabler, your main drug supplier and playing matchmaker between you and your spiteful boss . . ."

House's voice increased in volume, the fire of his gaze glowing in its intensity, "I said leave Wilson out of this!"

"Why are you so loyal to these people? They've done nothing but hurt you."

"And I've hurt them!"

"Not intentionally! Never deliberately like they've done to you. Cuddy never even gave you a fighting chance to have a real relationship with her. Even Foreman and Chase and Taub saw that! Three guys who need a dictionary to just look up the meaning of the word 'relationship.' And Wilson has always let you do whatever the hell you want then lectures you about it only after it's too late so he can feel morally superior! What kind of friendship are they really offering you House? What kind of friends are those?"

"The only kind a jerk like me could ever deserve!"

The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch himself. Thirteen had inclined forward during her passionate tirade but now, she fell back against the couch in shock and consternation . . . and overwhelming sympathy.

House leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He'd said too much, given himself away.

Thirteen's voice trembled as she spoke. "You . . . you don't think you're worth having friends who truly give a crap about you? Who honestly care about you?"

"I think you'd better go," he said quietly.

"House?"

"Get out!" he shouted, still with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He felt the couch shift as Thirteen removed her weight from its cushions and listened as her footsteps moved toward the door.

When he heard the door open and close, House could hold in his gut-wrenching anguish no longer. The tears sprang to his still closed eyes as, for the second time in twenty-four hours he gave in fully to his despair.

Throwing his right arm over his face, he let loose a low, guttural, heart-rending sob. He knew instinctively that once he'd started crying, he might never stop. But he could hold back on his utter despondency no longer.

He cried for the loss of love with Cuddy and her daughter, for the family he might have had and now, never would have. He mourned the loss of hope for any happiness in his shadowed life. He grieved the death of his easy friendship with Wilson who, when it came right down to it, would always side with Cuddy or even choose a new girlfriend over his friendship with House.

And he wept because he had never before felt so lost, so lonely, so wretched, so anxious for death to come and claim him so that his suffering could finally be at an end. Like a well-spring, his emotions, denied for over 50 long years, flowed in huge, unstoppable tears from his bright blue eyes leaving tracks along his unshaven face.

He was worse off than he was last year when Cuddy told him he had nothing and no one. For now, he once again had nothing and no one compounded with a complete and utter agony that ate at his very soul.

"House?"

House started. He raised his left arm to join his right in an attempt to hide his face entirely.

"What are you . . .? Get out! Get out! Get out!" he shouted hoarsely.

"I didn't mean . . . I came back . . . I forgot my purse."

"Take it and leave!"

House felt the couch move under Thirteen's weight as she sat back down. He could feel the warmth of her body, her breath on his arm. She was sitting much closer this time.

"I'm not leaving you. You shouldn't be alone," she said so close that she was almost whispering into his ear.

"I'm fine. Why don't you go see what Foreman's up to? Maybe you could pick up Chase and Taub for a foursome? As long as you can convince them to go for Foreman's sloppy seconds."

Thirteen didn't rise to House's bait. This was tame in comparison to the possible venom her boss could spew in order to force her back, pushing her and anyone else away so that he could continue to hide behind his walls.

He was the loneliest person she'd ever known and so erroneously persuaded in his own justification to stay that way, to forever be alone and unloved.

She gently placed her hand on his arm. He shivered at her touch but she did not remove it. Instead, she methodically moved his arm away from his face and placed his hand in her lap where she began stroking his upturned palm.

Minutes passed. It seemed something in him had broken open. He couldn't control himself. He couldn't stop sobbing. Yet, he couldn't do this now, not in front of her.

"What are you doing? Go away," he fairly shrieked.

"Shhhhh," Thirteen whispered again. "I'm not leaving you."

Her words somehow bled through to his grief, stemming the course of his misery. House tilted his head to the side and opened his eyes. His tears still clung thickly to his long eyelashes but had begun to dry on his face, leaving burnished tracks from his high cheekbones to his stubbled chin. They'd also washed the long night's redness from his eyes revealing their true color to be such an opulent blue that they rendered Remy speechless as she gazed into them.

Perhaps because he had always kept himself aloof, had always been sarcastic, caustic, perhaps because she'd only ever seen him as her exasperating boss, her secret mentor, the mad doctor coming up with the correct diagnosis at the eleventh hour, the pessimistic misogynist; perhaps it had been for all these reasons, Thirteen felt that she'd never really noticed before.

But she noticed now. House was absolutely striking.

Tall, wiry with large yet elegant hands, tousled mostly gun-metal grey hair, a strong jaw, straight nose, high cheekbones and his most arresting feature, deep set eyes the color of fine, blue porcelain.

She shivered slightly with emotion at her sudden realization and her just as impulsive desire to kiss him.

"Go," he said again.

"N-No," she stuttered.

He gazed at her quizzically, as if her face betrayed her newly organized thoughts. She felt the blood rise, coloring her high cheekbones. She also felt her blood sink to burrow warmly somewhere just below her navel.

"Go," House said, this time sounding tired and defeated as if he realized that he was fighting a losing battle.

Thirteen detected his mood change through the tone of his voice. She repeated her refrain, slowly, cautiously. "I'm . . . not . . . leaving . . . you."

He blinked slowly as he continued looking at her, taking his time in letting her words sink into his brain, unwittingly teasing and tempting her with his luminous stare.

"Stubborn bitch," he said without hostility.

Thirteen felt her own tears rise in sympathy as she smiled gently at him. "Yep."

House turned his palm over, taking hold of her hand and arresting its movement. His head still supported by the back of the couch, he continued to scrutinize her, gazing quite steadily into her eyes. The only sounds were their steady breathing, House's exhalation hitched every so often like a small child hiccupping after a crying jag.

The look House was giving her was drawing her in. She felt helpless in the grip of her new awareness and her sensations overwhelmed her as if she had been buffeted by a huge wave that was pulling her under and drowning her.

Caught in the undertow of emotion, Thirteen surrendered completely to the feeling. She leaned into House, closing her eyes as she did so.

And kissed him.


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**

House's mind flew into overdrive. She was kissing him. _She_ was kissing _him_.

And he kissed back.

Ardently, passionately, with everything he was worth, House kissed her back.

He was still hurting, he was still in pain, he was still so very tired, so very battered in body and mind and spirit. But in delicate contrast to the pain, House was feeling her warm lips on his, her soft hands on his shoulders, her silken hair brushing against his neck. She was kissing him. She was holding him. She was touching him.

And it felt so damn good.

That's how he knew it had to end, that something was terribly wrong.

He couldn't allow himself this, even if it were only a brief respite between his agony and heartbreak. It was too close, far too real. His feelings of protectiveness, of compassion for Thirteen would overflow into pain just as everything else in his life had.

What was more, he didn't deserve this, any of it, to feel good, to have a beautiful woman understand him, care for him, perhaps even love him even if it were only for a little while. He wasn't worthy of being nurtured, desired, held securely in her arms and the warmth of her body.

And she certainly didn't deserve him. She was too good to be shackled to a physical and emotional cripple, tied to him from this time onward because of a momentary lapse in judgment.

Besides, it was probably only intolerable pity that caused her to reach for him. Once she thought the better of it, when she regretted her actions, it would be too late. Their relationship would be forever contaminated and neither one would be able to move forward.

House would never be able to fulfill his oath to her, to take care of her and shield her from one of his own, greatest fears, the horrible torture of dying alone. And that was something to which he could never consent.

Thirteen only had a limited amount of time left. She deserved better than his tainted affections.

Just as Remy deepened the kiss, just as her tongue met with his and they mutually gasped, just as her hands begin to brush back and forth across his shoulders and chest, just as she felt him shiver with either excitement or trepidation, just as everything collapsed together, she felt him take hold of both her arms and gently push their impetuous bodies apart. As she leaned back, she opened her eyes to look at him.

House's eyes shone for a moment with such sorrow that she forgot to breathe. He was thinking of Cuddy, still hopelessly in love with the woman who had broken his heart.

Thirteen felt her own heart ache for him, for the nearness of him and for his emotions so close to the surface that they would be rubbed raw if they continued their physical connection.

And yet, to Thirteen's mind, their physical union could only strengthen the bond between them. It was, perhaps, the one thing that could break House free from his desolation and despair and staunch the bleeding of his festering emotional wounds.

At the same time, holding House in her arms, kissing him, making love to him in a nearly selfless manner might be the only act that would liberate her own heart from the frozen cage in which she had imprisoned it.

For it was in that moment, looking deeply into his sapphire eyes, she realized that she needed him as much, if not more, than he needed her.

But it went well beyond need, well beyond desire for the both of them. They were equals of attitude and temperament, emotion and spirit. Somehow, with all the noise surrounding them, in the great cacophony that was the despair of their loneliness, isolation and pain, they had found a quiet place, they had found each other. They stood by one another when the rest of the world was at odds with them and they swathed each other in feelings so long buried that their new awakening shocked them both. They were like two pioneers on the edge of an emotional wilderness and their only chance for survival was to move forward together in the same track.

Thirteen placed her hand against his cheek and lovingly ran her thumb along the fresh bruise standing starkly against the pale skin of his high right cheekbone. House slowly closed and opened his eyes, again never suspecting the hunger that simple action instilled within her.

The sorrow she had just seen continued to swirl within the depths of the blue, his heartbreaking emotional honesty plainly evident within him as his gaze held hers and continued to beckon her forward.

But fear had found its way into the magnetic pull of his eyes as well. And there was a tinge of something else within too. It seemed at first so foreign to the public image House projected that Remy was unable to identify it right away. But then she discerned it and felt the magnitude of it; the trust he would bestow upon her if she would indeed, as she had promised, _not_ leave him.

Hardly daring to believe, she saw there in House's eyes, nearly hidden by everything else . . . hope.

How could it still be there after all this time and after all that he'd suffered? How could Gregory House continue to hope after everyone he'd ever loved had abused, rejected and abandoned him? The idea that a candle of hope continued to burn inside him was astounding. And awe inspiring.

"I think you'd better go," House said in a voice husky with both his longing and his fear.

They sat looking at each other for a few more moments before Thirteen said, "Then by all means, don't think." She silenced any further discussion by kissing him hard on the mouth.

It was as simple as flicking off a light switch. As soon as her lips seized his own again, House's mind went completely and utterly blank, shutting down the roiling thoughts in his brain as he acted on instinct alone. His long suppressed emotions, brought forth that evening through his tragic encounter with Cuddy, the alcohol, the physical pain of the bar fight, his lack of sleep, his emotional breakdown as he wept and finally, his affinity with Thirteen as she attempted to console him all united to create within him an unthinking, illogical completely sensory being. For House there was no past, there was no future. There was only now, right now and the way she was making him feel, the way he hadn't felt for so very long: wanted, desired, loved. And that was all that mattered. He'd crossed over into complete emotion, his sensory needs leading his body, calling him to action.

House felt her small hands as they began tugging at his t-shirt and the two only broke their fervent kiss for a second as Remy lifted his shirt up and over his head.

As soon as he was bare-chested, Thirteen pressed into him fully, her hands seeming to be everywhere at once, brushing against his skin so lightly and yet, so intimately that House was unable to keep from uttering small, hushed moans into her greedy mouth in response.

With their lips still locked together, she leaned back and began undoing the buttons of her blouse. House's hands moved to assist her, pushing her blouse over her shoulders.

Remy's hands became temporarily caught in the sleeves but this time, House's fingers did not come to her aid. Instead, his quick dexterity made short work of removing her bra and she gasped into his mouth as his hands began to gently massage her breasts, lightly circling and then pinching the nipples.

It was her turn to moan this time.

When she eventually released her wrists from the confinement of her blouse, she wrapped House in the sanctuary of her embrace. The heat of his skin and suppleness of his flesh made her sigh in anticipation of the feeling of their fully naked bodies. She wanted him completely, craved him in a way that she'd never felt for anyone else.

Thirteen moved her right hand across House's chest, down along his stomach to his waist. She felt his responsiveness to every touch, every stroke she made as if he were a horse twitching away a fly. That was when she thrilled to a new notion; that House was as sensitive physically as much as he had this night revealed himself to be emotionally. This idea and the sexual implications of the kind of lover he would make sped her movements onward.

Her hand continued brushing back and forth across his torso, then up and down. Gently, resolutely, she pressed him against the back of the couch. As she did so, she pushed down his pajamas and tenderly grasped his erection, extricating it from the confines of the pants.

All resistance on his part had vanished as his nerve endings seemingly burst into flame. His hands slid down the warmth of her spine and grasped her hips just as she pushed her pants and underwear down past her thighs.

House barely had time to react as Thirteen suddenly stood up and away from him, lowering both her slacks and panties to the floor.

She stood for a moment before him, completely naked, her dark brown hair cascading past her shoulders, her cat's eyes gleaming with unbridled lust. It almost seemed she was waiting for a sign from him, assurance from House to take the next step from which there would be no turning back for either of them.

House looked at her, his eyes seductively half-closed. He opened his arms in receptivity and gingerly nodded his head.

She came back to him and in one smooth action straddled him, taking care to avoid his injured right leg. At the same time, they reconnected their impassioned kiss.

Their breathing and heart rates quickened as their tongues seemed to wrestle for superiority. He felt her entrance achingly close to himself and moist with her eagerness and need.

In one, quick, authoritative movement, House thrust his hips up just as she lowered herself down, impaling herself upon him. House cried out as Thirteen drove his extended length deeply into her core. Slowly, sensuously, she began rocking, up and down, back and forth, taking him in and letting him out meticulously slow.

In concert with her movements, House began pitching his hips forward and out, wholly filling her with every tantalizing dip and roll.

Thirteen's mouth released its grip on House's as she threw her head back, howling her pleasure to the ceiling as she felt the full enormity of her orgasm wash over her. As she came back down, she collapsed against him, tenaciously holding on as she continued to ride out the waves of her pleasure.

Freed from Thirteen's kiss, House's lips and tongue began circling and teasing her nipples, wetting them and then breathing across them to dry and raise them. He continued pushing against and inside of her, feeling her and his own muscles constrict as he came closer to the edge.

Following fast upon her first orgasm, Thirteen felt her walls building once more, squeezing around House even more tightly and sucking him still deeper into her womb. She pressed herself more firmly with every downstroke and took both of her hands, placing them on House's shoulders to steady herself before the next shockwave sent her soaring over the brink.

She did not have long to wait. She cried out again, this time screaming his name when her summit was reached. House sped up his own movements and at the same time, rotated his hips, increasing her ecstasy.

As Thirteen began to wind down from her second orgasm, she opened her eyes to look at him. House, innately sensing her gaze, opened his own eyes as well. His cobalt blue gaze raised up to look out of the top of his head while his mouth remained locked upon her breast, his tongue teasing her nipple. It was one of the sexiest things she'd ever seen.

"Kiss me," she breathed and House complied with her demand. His lips tasted of beer and bourbon and her own body but there was a delicious flavor there too that was all his own.

His breath became labored as House sensed his own building release. Everything was flooding his senses as he felt the overwhelming drive of his body to complete the task at hand.

Images jostled before his closed eyelids. What surprised him most was that in none of the visions did he picture Cuddy. Instead, there was Thirteen. All the times they had argued together during differentials, her eyes shining, her skin glowing. Quiet times when she didn't know he was there, watching as she lowered her voice to speak to a patient or as she caught a stray strand of hair and placed it behind her ear. The way she looked at him when he'd first answered his door to her, the way she looked at him a moment ago.

Like autumn leaves caught in a stray breeze, frenetically revolving around each other, House found himself completely caught up in her, in this moment. He'd never felt like this before, divested of his past and concerns about the future and what his current actions meant in that regard.

The closest he'd ever come to this sense of freedom was those few stolen moments he'd had with Lydia in that darkened office. Odd, that the one time he'd felt most free was when he made love to a married woman while he was shut up inside Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital.

That was, until now.

And like that other time, everything struck him at once. Yet, the feelings were distinct rather than jumbled, remaining sharp and well-defined. He felt all the pain of his injuries, the familiar twinge in his leg, the anguish of his heart, the desperation in his soul. He felt the hot sweat of his own and her passion clinging to his skin as their bodies slid together, in nearly perfect time with one another.

He felt her shudder, heard her moan as her body began to climax once more, his own body anxious to thrust into her so profoundly that he could not help but touch her to the source of her being, tangling her very soul with his own.

Thirteen gripped his shoulders so tightly that her fingertips were bruising his flesh but neither of them noticed nor cared. Neither could they stop the oncoming force that joined them in a frantically paced drive to be released.

Remy threw her head back again screaming an oath and his name as House plunged up and into her faster and faster, his breath arcing in shallower and shallower gasps, grunting and groaning in mindless escalation.

Just as her head fell forward in exhaustion, his fell back, his mouth agape in a wordless, primeval cry that both aroused and frightened her with its ferociousness and veracity. House's whole body flowed forward, first tightening to the point of agony and then exploding with a feeling of expansiveness he'd never experienced before.

He was breathing hard, rolling his head left and right, his eyes fluttering closed. He could feel her body leaning fully into him, unable to move. Her hands now lay lightly atop his shoulders while she pressed her face against his chest, her mouth wide, gasping for air.

House continued shaking his head back and forth as their breathing slowed. Still with his eyes closed, he felt her raise her head and take her hand to place it against his cheek, stopping his ceaseless shaking.

He slowly opened his eyes. As soon as he did so, she closed hers and leaned forward, gently biting his lower lip as she slowly, sensuously began kissing him.

Without thinking, he wrapped her securely in his arms and, as she slipped off to his side, laid her back on the couch, reclining on top of her as she fell softly onto the cushions.

They spent a few more minutes kissing and catching their breath before she moved her face slightly away from his.

"House?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her, voicelessly attending to her question.

"Let's get some sleep, okay?"

House merely nodded his reply and pulled his body away from hers.

Thirteen stood and bent down to gather her clothes that she'd dropped to the floor. House reached out his hand and stayed her.

Thirteen looked at him and smiled, offering her hand to help him up. He did not take it, but instead, pushed himself to a standing position using the arm of the couch.

But once on his feet, his hand gingerly clasped hers and with a heavy, limping gait, he led her to his bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

Thirteen lay on her side, watching House as he slept. The regular expansion of his ribcage and flare of his nostrils as he breathed, the movement of his eyes behind his eyelids as he dreamed were comforting to her in a way that transcended thoughts or words. She focused her mind therefore on the passion they'd shared a mere two hours before in the muted glow of his living room.

She had just initiated a sexual relationship with her problematic, mercurial boss. And that, after she had promised herself that she would never again become involved with anyone she worked with.

So why didn't she feel bad about it?

The multiple orgasms House had given her certainly didn't raise any objections to her new found way of thinking. Instead, they'd provided her with an unfamiliar feeling of wholeness.

Remy had for many years considered herself a sexually liberated person. But she had never before experienced either the number or intensity of climaxes House had just provided.

Perhaps it had been because she always felt the need to somehow remain in control of herself, even in or maybe especially with, her sexual encounters. Remy realized she had never before allowed her body to give into the kind of wild abandon, the hedonistic freedom of being driven to the very edge of all things known and unknown. This time she had. And it was confusing and frightening and wonderful all at the same time.

House had done this for her, to her. His immediate pain had opened a wide avenue of complementary feelings and sensations that shook her body, mind and heart to the very foundation of her being. He had been so intense, so honest in his torrent of emotion that, like a great flood, she had been swept up in the overabundance of feelings leaving her no recourse but to respond in kind. Consequently her heart had freed her body to revel in the possession of his. And it had been absolutely glorious.

Her eyes widened at the sudden thought that as this was only House's first time "at bat" with her, his heretofore hidden talents in this sensual realm were genuinely remarkable. Thirteen smiled as she considered that with additional encounters or 'practice,' by becoming better acquainted with the other's body, preferences and playfulness, the sex could only get better and better.

Provided that what had just happened was not a one-time thing.

Remy pondered this possibility for a moment. For some reason, the very thought of a fleeting relationship with House gave Remy a not unfamiliar ache in her chest. Why? The two of them were consenting adults. Weren't they both simply looking to have their physical needs met? Wasn't this just a case of two lonely people who shared similar outlooks and who happened to be at the same place at the same time? So what if they were using each other to get what they both needed and wanted?

As soon as that thought crossed Remy's mind, she felt the fallacy of it. It simply wasn't true. She hadn't used House. Neither had she made love to him out of pity.

Instead they had come together as equals. While still running high on House's promise to stay with her in her final moments and his subsequent lie to the team to provide a cover story for her time in prison, Remy had found an opportunity this morning to repay him at least a little for these chivalrous overtures. Not with the sex but in her defense of him in matters involving Cuddy, his lopsided friendship with Wilson and most importantly, Remy had defended House to his harshest critic, himself. For in the same way that House had supported her, championed her, protected her, she felt an honorable calling to do the same for him.

House's reaction had been a revelation. He had been completely exposed, his fragile heart laid open for her and only her to see. And in that moment, Remy found herself drawn to him in a manner that had been both unremitting and undeniable.

She couldn't abandon him as everyone else had done. And by not leaving him, she had found a better part within herself as well.

No, she hadn't used House. And House had been too candid and raw to have even been attempting to use her. The sex between them had been an after-effect of their sympathetic encounter.

It was far too real. They both wanted this, wanted each other here and now. And as Remy continued to think about it all, the idea began to dawn on her that she wanted the here and now, she and House, not only now but to continue for some time to come.

Remy smiled to herself in profound satisfaction as she reached over and gently brushed House's face with her fingertips. Yes, they had forged a connection long before this morning. And that connection and the feelings that surfaced within one another from their shared history had this day bubbled over until nothing was hidden, nothing was safe.

The element of risk they both felt at baring their emotions with each other lent an excitement to their union. It combined with all the other feelings they were experiencing, creating a sexual charge so profound that when they finally came together, their intertwined destinies struck them both with the force of a tornado.

If sex with House was this mind-blowing without the deeper connection of a steady relationship, then what was it like when House _was_ completely committed and in love?

Thirteen knew one thing for sure. Lisa Cuddy was a damned fool.

A sudden, sinking feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach. Cuddy. House was still under the yoke of his unresolved issues with Lisa Cuddy. He was obviously still in love with her. And he was still ravaged by her heartless break up with him.

Add to that Cuddy's recent salvo in their ongoing battle whereby she demanded House's resignation and it was highly doubtful as to whether House was willing or even ready to give Thirteen more than a one-night stand or at most, a brief fling.

Why did that thought and its connotations suddenly plague her? She'd started to question herself about what House might want, but what did she really want?

If she was entirely honest with herself, after this morning's performance, Remy certainly wanted more than this, more than one shining moment forever consigned to the sweetest of memories past.

She wanted to understand him for, like House, she too was fond of puzzles. And there was perhaps no greater puzzle that she knew of than Gregory House.

He was a fascinating individual, on so many levels. She wanted to experience his mind, his genius, his medical expertise. But she also wanted to know him on a more personal level. She wanted to delve more deeply into the mysteries within him, the ones that he so carefully guarded and only occasionally, like this morning, let slip.

She wanted to understand the strange dichotomy of this man who could in one moment, offend and anger her and then in the next, make her want to cradle his face in her hands and kiss away his fears and apprehensions as if he were a little boy. She wanted to feel his feelings. More importantly, she wanted to heal his pain, if it were at all possible.

But she knew she must tread lightly. Her motives needed to be pure. For House was not someone that should be toyed with, he was simply not stable enough. He had gone through too much, especially the last two years, to be shrugged off so easily.

Hadn't she gotten angry with Cuddy and Wilson only a few hours before on House's behalf for that very reason? Because as the two people who had known House the longest, the two people to whom he was the most loyal, had for all intents and purposes forsaken and even betrayed him?

Remy closed her eyes. The novel idea dawned on her that she was already taking the formation of their new bond quite earnestly. She wanted him, wanted all of him. Not just for a few hours or a few days. She wanted to build a more intense rapport with him. She wanted to probe more deeply into the conundrum that was House, for herself and yes, for him as well.

And she definitely wanted to have a lot more incredible sex with him.

She knew that this morning she had made him, if only for a brief moment in time, happy. She knew it because she too had felt happy. She felt grateful to House for that.

Gratitude, sympathetic connection, respect for House as a genius doctor and as a man, Remy felt a small tremor of fear at the realization that if she were not extremely careful, she could become quite disposed to be in love with him.

Behind her closed eyelids, Thirteen began to have the sneaking suspicion that she was being watched. Slowly opening her eyes, she saw House looking at her most intensely, the corners of his kissable mouth turned upward into a sly smile which she knew mirrored hers.

"House, I . . ." But her words were cut short as House closed the distance between them and enveloped her lips with his own.

Thirteen moaned with pleasure and anticipation as House slowly moved over her, covering her body in a warm, sensual House-blanket.

Some time afterward, Remy lay gasping for air as a panting, driving House let out a final groan of release and then rolled to her side. She continued to wind down, contentedly savoring the warmth of his embrace and the tender kisses he bestowed upon her neck.

The idea to say something to him was quickly put aside with the realization that all of her most recent screaming had probably made her voice too hoarse to be heard right now anyway.

But she couldn't keep herself from smiling in total satisfaction as she once more closed her eyes. He had just proved to her beyond the shadow of a doubt that their first time together hadn't been a fluke.

House really was THAT good.


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**

Thirteen slid to the side of the bed, swinging her legs over the edge until she felt the wood floor solid and cool beneath her bare feet. With one hand, she absentmindedly scratched her head, probing her tousled hair with her fingertips. She vainly attempted to smooth her disheveled locks at the same time as she leveraged her other hand to gracefully push herself to a standing position.

Just as she took a step forward, Remy felt a gentle tug on her left hand. She turned to see House clasping that hand with both of his own, his eyes fixed upon her fingers rather than her face and his expression, surprisingly earnest.

His appearance so exactly epitomized that of a little boy that Thirteen's heart skipped a beat or two. She shook her head, attempting to clear it. For Remy was waging a desperate internal battle; on one side there was the necessity of getting to work and on the other, the sore temptation of House luring her back to the earthly delights awaiting her in his arms and his bed.

"House, I'm just going to make us some coffee. I assume you have coffee? We're going to have to start moving if we don't want to get fired."

He looked up at her as she spoke. His eyes held something indefinable, breakable. And then he closed his eyes again, turned back to her hand and placed a tender kiss upon her open palm.

Thirteen's breathing and heart shuddered to a halt at the sweetness of this romantic gesture. She raised her hand to gently stroke his face, desperately trying to hold back the tears which had suddenly begun to burn her eyes. House sighed and released her hand. Thirteen made her escape by walking quickly into the living room.

She forced herself to focus on clothes and coffee. Retrieving her still knotted blouse from behind the couch, she quickly gave up untangling it for the time being and chose instead the easier option of House's discarded t-shirt, slipping it over her head before going into the kitchen to make coffee.

Her thoughts and emotions were in a whirl. What was happening to her? What was happening to them both?

In hindsight, the entire morning took on a surreal quality from the moment a smiling House opened his door to her to when he had his emotional breakdown to just a few minutes ago when he lovingly kissed her hand. Thirteen was feeling lightheaded. She needed to compose herself. She needed to think.

Gripping the countertop with both hands, she lowered her head between her arms, sliding her bare legs behind her and hollowing out her back to stretch the stiffness from her spine. She chuckled to herself as she wondered what would happen if House came limping into his kitchen and saw her bent over the counter in this provocative position. Then again, she didn't wonder. She knew.

Imagining him entering her from behind melted with her memories of their recent encounters, the way he touched her, the way his lips caressed her skin, the way he felt as he moved inside her. The combination of his tenderness and his dominant masculinity made the blood pound louder in her ears. She also felt it coursing lower, giving her a sultry tremor well south of her navel.

God, she was going crazy. This couldn't possibly be happening to her, not this fast. She had somehow become a House junkie and she was already anxious for her next fix. Only another lustful infusion of him could forestall her feelings of withdrawal.

Thirteen could think of no reason for her seemingly unquenchable thirst, the heat of her desire for him. Any logical explanation fell far short of the mark. She was fully aware that she was in her sexual prime but she reasoned that she had been there for some time. Yet, she'd never experienced this kind of craving for anyone before, particularly so early in the relationship.

Relationship. Was that what this was? Remy conceded that she was already in a relationship with House and she neither needed nor wanted to be anywhere else.

But is that what House thought as well? With all the turmoil in her own mind and heart, what was House thinking about what had transpired over the course of the last few hours? Thirteen realized that with her own propensity to over analyze, she had, as yet, not even bothered to ask him. And now she needed to know.

Gathering up her courage, she stood up and finished getting the coffee ready. As it brewed, she went and used the bathroom, borrowing House's toothbrush to brush her teeth. Then she returned to the kitchen and poured the coffee into two mugs she'd found in the cabinet. Taking one in each hand, she made her way back to the bedroom.

Thirteen entered cautiously, not wishing to startle House in case he'd fallen back to sleep. But when she rounded the side of the bed, she saw that he was lying there just as she had left him. Only now his eyes were open as he stared, almost vacantly, straight ahead.

"Coffee?" she said.

House slid up to a sitting position on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard, his lower body wrapped in the sheet and blankets. Thirteen placed a mug into his outstretched hand and then crooked a leg underneath herself to sit down beside him.

They sat drinking their coffee in an easy silence for awhile, both of them taking pleasure in each other's company and the stillness of the quiet morning.

Finally, Thirteen knew she needed to break the ice and deal with the matter at hand.

"House, I wanted to talk to you about . . . I think we should decide how we're going to handle this . . ." She swept her hand between them in an inclusive, circular motion. As her voice dropped off, she looked to House for assistance or an argument. But as he showed no inclination for either interrupting or adding to the conversation, Thirteen went on.

"I think we can agree that neither of us want or are ready to leave Princeton Plainsboro?"

House looked at her from over the edge of his coffee cup. He took a sip and closed his eyes, savoring the taste of the rich, dark liquid. Just as he leaned his head back against the headboard, he nodded.

"Good. Then I think the best way we can keep our jobs, at least for right now, is to keep this to ourselves, to go on like before. Agreed?"

House opened his eyes and slowly lowered his gaze. His deep set eyes held a familiar expression that Thirteen couldn't identify. But before she could say anything more House, almost sadly, nodded his head again.

It was easier than she'd thought it would be.

"Uh, good. Great. I'm glad we agree. If you don't mind, I'm going to go use your shower. It'll save me time when I swing by my apartment to grab a change of clothes."

House nodded his head once more.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek before hopping off the bed to make her way to the bathroom.

Remy turned on the bathtub faucet to let the water heat up and then reluctantly peeled off House's t-shirt, savoring his scent before she tossed it casually to the floor. When the steam began rising from the shower, she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the tub.

Thirteen was grateful that House had so readily agreed to keep their personal relationship a secret from the prying eyes and wagging tongues at PPTH. She'd never been anxious to parade her private business out in the open for the censure or entertainment of others.

She knew she had not faithfully applied that axiom during the time she was dating Foreman. Consequently, she'd always felt their relationship had suffered for it.

But now, in just a few short hours, Remy felt the significance of what had occurred between her and House. And she was determined to not let history repeat itself in their case. If they were going to try to see where this thing between them would lead at all, they would have to do it on their own; without interfering friends, associates and especially, exes.

She wanted none of Eric Foreman's opinions or advice. And since Remy wasn't even sure that Cuddy could as yet be considered House's "ex," so much the better for their fledgling relationship to keep her in the dark as well.

Thirteen closed her eyes and opened her mouth, gulping both air and water as she pushed her face beneath the shower's spray. She worked her jaw up and down, back and forth as she continued to wet her hair and her body, enjoying the prickling sensation of the steaming water.

She began humming to herself while she shampooed her hair. She was so preoccupied, still with her eyes closed, still humming to herself that she paid no attention to other sounds coming from inside the bathroom. She didn't even realize House was there until he pulled back the shower curtain, the resultant rush of cooler air sending gooseflesh along her body.

"House? Damn! You made me get soap in my eyes," she said as she again leaned into the spray to rinse her eyes and face.

As she stood there facing forward, House boosted himself over the edge of the tub, simultaneously winding his long arms around her waist. He pressed into her roughly, bending her forward and at the same time moving his hands from her waist to her hips as he did so.

Remy was taken off guard by House's brusqueness. She opened her mouth to protest.

"House, I . . . ," but the rest of her statement was cut short by her own sharp, intake of breath. The sensations he was creating by stroking between her thighs with his long fingers made any objections fly from her brain.

She groaned with pleasure and pushed back into him, satisfied to feel him already hard. Without further preface, he plunged inside her.

"Oh God!" she shouted as she heard him voice his own satisfied grunt into her ear.

Remy's body jerked forward and back, her breasts shaking as House vigorously began thrusting into her. He was penetrating her so deeply and gripping her hips so firmly, she knew she would be bruised.

But she did not care. The mild discomfort she felt at his almost violent pumping was nothing compared to the feeling that was building in her lower abdomen. Like a finely tuned engine revving up to a higher gear, her body began to quiver, the heat pooling between her thighs and rising to her stomach, lungs, heart and finally released through her lips in a series of satisfied moans.

House was building her up to her most amazing orgasm yet. His no holds barred drive, the fact that he was taking her, taking what he wanted, fulfilling his sexual desire as he slammed into her was exciting her beyond the boundaries of what she'd already experienced this morning.

Yet at the same time, Remy knew that House was still completely aware of the effect he was having upon her. He controlled his movements and his body just as before, extending both her torment while amplifying her pleasure.

Thirteen liked being forced into the submissive role. She liked that House was taking her. She liked what he was doing to her.

House's right hand slid away from her hip and moved up to manipulate her breasts. She came just as he reached up and clasped the base of her throat. He moved in and out of her faster and faster, drawing out her orgasm in waves of intense pounding.

His own triumphant yell as he reached the summit blended into her slowing, spiraling pants and moans.

"So good . . . so good . . ." Remy repeated over and over again as she staggered backward just as he finished and pulled out of her.

Remy felt House move away from her and she turned in time to see him stumble back, his recent exertions and her body's weight obviously too much for his injured leg to support.

She instinctively reached out to help him and he, just as instinctively, pushed her arms away as he fell back heavily onto the rim of the bathtub.

Remy stood looking at him while she braced herself with one hand against the wall of the shower, her lower body still throbbing with waves of aching pleasure. Some minutes passed as they both continued to catch their breath.

House was still panting as he closed his eyes and leaned to his side, shivering slightly as his shoulder and ribs made contact with the cool, slick tiles at the back of the shower.

She noticed that House had remained relatively dry except for a few droplets of the shower's spray that had apparently splashed onto his cheeks.

It was then that the realization hit her with all the force of a speeding freight train. My God, what an idiot she'd been!


	12. Chapter 12

**12.**

What she had said, the way she'd said it, House's fragile expression, why he hadn't spoken a word this whole time, the tears on his cheeks, all these things became suddenly illuminated, as if the blinds of a darkened room had been lifted all at the same time.

Remy shivered as a thrill of fear rose up from her stomach, dissipating into her extremities. Her terror brought about by the realization that she was close to losing the one thing she'd wanted for so long just as she'd finally found it. She lowered her gaze, looking at House anxiously for some sign that it was not yet too late.

But House's face betrayed no emotion. He sat on the edge of the bathtub still catching his breath, rubbing his aching thigh in a distracted manner. His eyes, expression, his whole demeanor was noticeably closed to further inquiry on her part.

Remy's mind flashed back to when she told House about the death of her brother. He had been the first person to whom she'd confessed that she'd been with her brother at the very end and that she helped, with an overdose of drugs, to end his suffering.

House had stood not far away from her, listening patiently, his face a mask of indifference.

But his eyes . . . oh if she had only bothered to look into his eyes. Misunderstanding his expression and lack of commentary, Remy had lashed out at him, accusing him of being dead inside and praising Cuddy for breaking up with him accordingly.

That was when House looked at her, his gaze held hers for only a moment. But in that brief instant, there was no mask, no walls for him to hide behind. His agony and heartbreak over the end of his relationship with Cuddy and at once more being so completely misunderstood were all reflected in that timeless second in the immeasurable depths of his eyes.

But now his eyes were closed. House had shielded himself against her, against any further infliction of pain, denying her entry to the revelation of his innermost thoughts through the emotions that were no doubt traitorously reflected in his eyes.

Their newborn relationship and their hearts were balanced on the edge of a knife. So it was on her now, to make her feelings clear. She needed to assuage his fears, she needed to let him know what she herself had just realized, that she needed him, wanted him, already cared deeply for him; before the continuing silence created a distance between them that could never be traversed.

But was she already too late?

"House?" she said quietly, kneeling down onto the bathtub floor in front of him. He made no answer or any other sign that he'd heard her.

"House, please look at me."

House continued to pant and keep his eyes tightly shut.

"House, I didn't mean . . . what I said before . . . I only meant that whatever goes on between us should be kept between us and us alone. I don't want to start any problems for either of us at work. I wasn't . . . I didn't mean for it to sound like I was ashamed or I was breaking up with you. I just want us to have a chance, a REAL chance together, you and me, without advice or criticism from everyone we know at work. I want us to . . ."

As Remy spoke, House slowly opened his eyes. Doubt, hurt and that same small glimmer of hope that she'd seen before all converged on her as he looked out from beneath his lowered brow. Just as their eyes connected, Remy began to lose her nerve. She dropped her gaze, watching his hand as he continued massaging the ragged scar on his right thigh.

House's hand stopped its motion and moved forward to cup her chin, gently raising her face up until her eyes once more met his. Thirteen saw the cobalt gaze filled with confusion and wonder.

As he spoke, his voice was husky with emotion. "You want us to . . . what? Say that again."

"I want us to be . . . together."

The corners of House's mouth turned up into a very subtle, sad smile.

"You do? Really?"

By way of an answer, Thirteen merely nodded her head, still gazing into his eyes of purest blue.

"When you said 'go on like before' I thought you meant . . . I thought you didn't want . . ." House blinked slowly, releasing a small sigh. "Why would someone like you want an old, broken down cripple like me?"

To House's surprise, Thirteen laughed, the sound ringing sweetly in his ears at it echoed off the tiles of the shower.

"So you came in here to bang me one last time? If that's your idea of a final curtain call, I'm going to break up with you more often."

House's smile broadened slightly, his face taking on an impish delight. "Well I figured if I wasn't ever going to have a chance to tap that fine ass of yours again . . ."

Thirteen rose up and leaned forward, kissing him hard on the mouth. Her movement caught him off-guard, nearly knocking him over onto the bathroom floor. House grabbed the edge of the tub with both hands to maintain his balance as Thirteen seized his shoulders, holding him in place and keeping him from falling over.

Just as House deepened the kiss, Thirteen licked his lips and drew back, opening her eyes. There was mischief in her expression.

"Yeah House, like I'd give up this."

"Give up what?"

Remy stared at him for a moment. Was House really unaware of his prowess? Was he really ignorant of the effect he had upon her, how good he made her feel?

As she looked at his guileless expression, she had her answer. How could he possibly be such an arrogant ass with regards to his medical skills and so self deprecating regarding everything else?

The answers could not be reasoned. They had to be felt. Thirteen decided once again to act on instinct. After all, it had served her well so far this morning.

"This," she finally answered his question right before she hungrily kissed him again. She placed her hand on his stomach and slid it down to his groin. She lovingly cupped him and broke the kiss just as he moaned in response to her touch.

"Or this," she said still grasping him resolutely. His pupils began to dilate as she gently stroked him.

"House, at the risk of feeding your overly enormous ego, you are a fantastic lover. I was kinda hoping that we could screw each other like rabbits at least a few more times before we threw in the towel."

It was House's turn to laugh and Remy felt lightheaded again, her mind whirling with the sound.

"No towels for you. Unless I get to use them to tie you up," House said, still grinning.

"Fair enough. In fact," she said grinning wickedly as she stroked him once last time and then released him, "That sounds like a lot of fun. Now can we get a move on before we both lose our jobs?"

"So you're gonna let me tie you up?" House began gleefully rubbing his hands together. "You alpha females just LOVE to be dominated, don't you? That's why you thought it was so hot of me to take you from behind. That's why you came so hard."

Thirteen felt herself blush. Of course he'd noticed. No one else would have, not this early in the relationship, not with only two previous encounters to base the comparison on. But this was House she was dealing with after all.

He pulled her body closer and began kissing her stomach, slowly moving up her torso as he applied a light pressure to her shoulders, lowering her to his level.

His words and his kissing made her body ache for him once more. She was completely out of control. She needed to bluff her way out of this to try to maintain her composure.

"House!"

Although she tried to keep a straight face, as she stared down into his dancing blue eyes, she found her resolve weakening. Thirteen laughed again as she gently pushed back away from him.

"If you don't stop, we're never gonna get to work."

"So what?"

"So we NEED to get to work. You and I both need to keep our jobs if for nothing else but to afford all those towels I'm gonna use to tie YOU up."

House laughed once more and Thirteen thought she'd never before heard such a rich, musical sound.

"I'd like to see you try," he said.

"Oh ho," she said as she lifted her eyebrows and the corners of her sensuous mouth. "Consider the gauntlet thrown. Just remember, as much as we alpha females like to be dominated, the same goes for you alpha males." She lowered her voice to a seductive whisper, leaning far enough forward for her hair to brush his shoulder. House shivered.

"And I can't wait to have you completely at my mercy," she said. "So many wicked things I want to do to you and you won't be able to stop me. I'll make you scream so loud, make you come so hard . . ."

Thirteen smiled broadly, stepping close to him again and kissing him longingly on the mouth. As she did so, she reached down and stroked him again, smiling against his lips at the groan accompanying his immediate, physical reaction.

"There," she said moving away from his too late grasp. "That's one to grow on. Now c'mon or we'll be really late."

"Nice pun," House replied, pulling an exaggerated pout on his kissable lips.

"I'll make it up to you."

House looked up at her, a little boy's delight written across his weathered features.

"Promise?"

Thirteen laughed again. She couldn't ever remember feeling so playful or having so much fun with a new lover. House was completely surprising, keeping her constantly off-balance but in an exciting, enjoyable way.

She nodded as she said, "Yes, I promise. Now c'mon. Let's get going. Oh and by the way, I hope you don't mind but I used your toothbrush to brush my teeth."

House's smile faded quicker than snow on a hot stove. His expression darkened, becoming almost indifferent and unreadable once more. "That's fine," he said matter of factly as he swung his legs over and lifted himself up to stand on the cool tile floor.

Thirteen had no idea what had suddenly changed House's mood. Just as he began to limp out of the bathroom, she stepped out of the tub and trotted after him, impulsively hugging him from behind and tenderly kissing his pale, lightly freckled shoulder.

"Sorry I made you think . . . House? I'm sorry."

House turned in her embrace and draped his long arms around her waist, pulling her tightly against him as he bent to kiss her. They stood together for a timeless moment, quietly exploring the inside of each other's mouth, kissing as though they had invented the act and raised it to the level of high art.

When they finally broke apart, a mutual sigh escaped their lips. They both moved their hands to the other's face and cradled it there with so much tenderness that they stayed immobile for some minutes longer.

"Tonight?" House said, a tremble of hope in his quiet voice.

"My place," Remy answered.


	13. Chapter 13

**13.**

House knew he needed one last kiss, one last taste of her before he was left to his own devices, alone again with the crushing weight of his fears and reservations. Like a roller coaster, the entirety of the past 14 hours had rolled over him in a heart-stopping series of terrible lows and incredible highs. And now, House's need to analyze and make sense of it all had finally found its voice and begun a non-stop clamor in his brain.

If he might kiss her again however, perhaps he could quell the uproar, if only for a few minutes longer. And more importantly, he would have one last burning memory to warm him in the desperate coldness of his isolation when all this did indeed, as he suspected, turn out to be only a dream.

He hobbled quickly after Thirteen as she opened the front door. Just as she walked through, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back into his powerful embrace.

She automatically dropped her purse and pressed her body fully into him, throwing her arms about his neck and plunging her greedy tongue into his equally voracious mouth. She kissed him deeply, passionately, until they both ran out of air and mutually broke apart, gasping for breath.

With a seductive smile, she playfully whipped the towel from his lean hips for "one last good look as a hold over until tonight." Planting one more aching kiss on his ravenous mouth, she stooped to pick up her things, kissed him between his legs and backed away, erotically licking his taste from her lips and leaving him standing naked in his hallway.

No sooner had House closed the door to his apartment than his fears, like an invading army, stormed back into his psyche, clutching his heart and hijacking the breath from his lungs.

So many images and words flashed across the dreamscape of his brain that he thought he might be losing his mind. Showing up on Cuddy's doorstep, tenderly placing Rachel in her crib, his cathartic confrontation with Cuddy, returning home and getting drunk, the bar fight and then, just as the sun rose, Thirteen showing up on his doorstep. She'd gotten him thinking about something other than his failed, final attempt with Cuddy and had talked sense to him. He'd tried to push her away but she'd come back, held his hand, refused to leave him.

And then she'd kissed him.

House wasn't ready. So much had happened to him in such a short period of time. He needed to reevaluate, he needed to work everything out to its logical conclusion.

But as soon as Thirteen had said to him, "Then don't think," House placed his thoughts, all of them, into a locked trunk in the cluttered attic of his mind. From that moment on through the events of the entire morning, House had acted purely on impulse and emotion.

He had been kissed. He had been held. He had felt loved. And Gregory House had not truly felt that way in a long, long time.

By allowing his rational mind to take a backseat to his instinct, House had experienced for himself something totally surprising. And wonderful. And better than he could ever have dreamt.

But now his worries had finally caught up to his actions and House felt as if he'd lost his grip on the embankment of sanity and become plunged into a river of chaos and fear.

What the hell was he doing? He'd fallen into bed with a much younger, granted beautiful woman who was under his employ. Not to mention that she had already been in a relationship with another member of his staff and was currently being actively pursued by yet another. He'd also ignored the fact that she was a young woman with a terminal genetic illness who had, at best, 10 to 12 years of life left to her.

Sure, she'd refused to leave when he ordered her out of his apartment. But at some point, he should have stopped what happened afterward. He should not have allowed himself to be so selfish.

Because in the final analysis, House knew in his heart that he needed this. More than that, he wanted this, he wanted her.

And the most surprising thing House realized was that Thirteen had seemed to need and want him too.

But of all the insane things he'd done over the years, this was probably the craziest.

Well, except perhaps for getting romantically involved with his boss.

Cuddy. House had not felt her presence since he'd opened his door to Thirteen. That was until she mentioned borrowing his toothbrush.

Then the old petty arguments with Lisa Cuddy came flooding back to him. What was he going to do about her?

Then again . . . what did he really need to do about Cuddy? The last thing he'd left her with had been for _her_ to make a decision about him, about their relationship. There had been no word from her since. She hadn't come over to his apartment. She hadn't even called.

Her resultant silence had spoken volumes.

He'd gone to her house last night wearing his heart on his sleeve, laid his feelings and intentions out for her as clearly as possible and she had rejected him once more.

Of course it was highly probable that Cuddy's refusal to answer was evidence of her simply making another power play. She was using his emotional honesty to again bolster her own need for control in her continuing game of one-upmanship with him.

How typical.

House limped back into his bedroom to get dressed, still turning things over in his mind.

But what if Cuddy's hesitation was only because she needed more time? He HAD told her he would wait, but not long. Was several hours long enough?

He knew he had absolutely no reason to feel guilty. He hadn't cheated on Cuddy. They'd never reconciled. They were still most definitely on a break.

House frowned at the thought of how close he'd come to making love to Cuddy last night. He also realized that while he would have considered it "making love" he would have been the only participant to do so.

For Cuddy, the act was merely about sex.

He'd felt the difference, that tension with her last night. He wanted, no needed that physical closeness. It mirrored his emotional need. He'd opened his heart to her . . . again. And his body had simply followed the lead his heart had taken.

Cuddy on the other hand had obviously just needed to get laid. He frowned deeper still as he remembered how she'd even tried to physically maneuver him into the act. When he'd backed off from her, to again assert his feelings, she'd gotten downright bitchy. She wanted the sex without the emotional connection while House had been unable to separate the two.

But that had always been the way with her. So much of Cuddy's personality was fixated on imposing her will upon others, her need to be in control and to keep everyone and everything in her life well-defined and orderly.

For all his allegiance to logic and reason, House on the other hand was an extremely sensuous creature. Perhaps it was because he had to use his rational mind so much in his life, in his job, that once left to his own devices, his mind and body sought out sensory experiences to take his brain offline for awhile, allowing his grey matter a brief respite.

Whether it was the roaring sounds and smells of exhaust at a monster truck rally or the exhilaration of speed he felt as he raced on his motorcycle, House's mind wanted, no needed a plethora of varied sensory diversions. And that desire was expressed nowhere as strongly as in his sex drive.

He needed a sense of freedom and abandon in his lovemaking. He'd somehow forgotten that all the while he devoted himself to the overly controlling Cuddy.

One morning with Thirteen had made him remember and had, in fact, brought him more gratification than all of the long months with Cuddy.

Or perhaps he was still looking at his relationship with Cuddy with a resentful eye.

There were plenty of reasons for him to do that of course. Not all of them involved the bedroom but there was no doubt that House and Cuddy's physical relationship in many ways mirrored every other aspect of their dynamic.

During the course of their relationship, most of their activities in the bedroom reflected Cuddy's constant struggle to wield power over him. Frustrated in her attempts to control him at work, she had therefore tripled her efforts in their personal lives.

And negative reinforcement was her favorite tool in her ever vigilant need to keep order, something to which House had been well acquainted with during their relationship.

There was a bitter taste in House's mouth as he recollected how many times Cuddy used the withholding of sex as her most lethal weapon against him.

Perhaps because he had experienced a solitary, difficult childhood, or maybe because he'd always been a loner, verbal communication had never been House's forte. Cutting off the physical element from House therefore, while he was in the throes of his passion was like forbidding him to breathe.

When words failed him, House used sight, sound, smell and touch to make himself understood and reveal his inner emotions, his true nature. And the sex act facilitated his verbal communication. He was somehow freer to express himself through action and the best way he knew how to apologize or reach out to the woman he loved was through his physical body. That in turn allowed him to open up, verbally expressing the emotions he had already physically revealed.

House had always simply found it easier to "show" a woman he loved her rather than "tell" her so.

Cuddy had never respected that fact. Even after she had insisted upon keeping their work and their private lives separate, she used the withholding of sex as her weapon of choice against him whenever she felt he had crossed the line either privately or at work.

And House had ALWAYS been a line crosser.

It was one of the things that made him so good at his job. It was also one of the things that made him such a creative thinker . . . and lover for that matter.

House's lips curved into a slight smile as he thought of making love to Thirteen this morning. It had felt so easy, like the most natural thing in the world. He had felt desired, sexy, funny, honest, naked, accepted, loved, free.

And she had called him a "fantastic lover." Was it possible that he'd given her just as much pleasure as she'd given him?

House finished getting dressed and then, remembering that Thirteen had said, "My place," he threw a change of clothes into his backpack.

A small tremor in his stomach reminded him that he had not felt this way in a long, long time. It was the feeling of standing on the cusp of a new adventure, the feelings of euphoria when first falling in love. It was, for House, the unfamiliar feeling of hope.

But could he open his heart again so soon after Cuddy had destroyed it? Should he allow himself to hope that someone would love him just as he was? And was Thirteen the woman he could place that trust in?

As House finished packing and grabbed his helmet and keys, he continued to think about all of these things. He locked his door and strode out to the street where his motorcycle was parked, waiting for him.

House realized that since receiving Cuddy's email yesterday, he had been on autopilot. His rational mind had, for the first time in his life, taken a back seat to his feelings. He'd opened a Pandora's box of emotion that could not be closed again.

His anger and pain made him go to Cuddy's house to confront her. His love for her and Rachel had forced him to be completely honest and open with her. Her manipulation and rejection had made him seek out what he considered an appropriate punishment for himself.

And then he'd opened his door to Thirteen. She had argued with him and defended him and in the end, even after he'd tried to push her away, she had stayed with him.

House threw a long leg over the bike, started it and rolled out onto the street. He could feel the engine's vibration between his knees, running up his thighs and down to his toes which were settled securely on the foot pegs. House swiveled his hips, swerving around cars and taking the turns as he headed to work.

His trepidation over what he would find when he reached his destination, whether Cuddy would confront him and force him to quit, whether Wilson would side with Cuddy or not and how he himself would feel when he saw Thirteen again after all that had occurred between them flew from his mind as he reveled in the sheer physicality of riding the bike.

As House once more relinquished his grasp on the purely rational, he began to bathe in the purely sensual. But instead of muddying his thoughts, his emotions seemed to clear his mind and crystallize for him what it was that he truly wanted and longed for.

House had become a sensory animal once more. He focused on the feelings the bike aroused in him, the beauty of its speed and power, its quick responsiveness to his every movement, to every thrust and tilt of his hips and shift of his weight.

And as House cruised through the morning streets of Princeton, he slowly began to come to the conclusion that maybe making love with Thirteen had not been a mistake after all.


	14. Chapter 14

**14.**

House's ride to work that morning was freeing. The pavement speeding under his tires cleared his mind while the drone of the bike's engine echoed through him, like the hum of a tuning fork. As House pulled into his handicapped space and took off his helmet, he smiled at the realization that the tone he was now harmonizing to was in a brand new key.

For Thirteen's vibration was completely fresh, exciting and upbeat.

He was still smiling as he brandished his cane while removing it from its holder on the bike and limped toward the main entrance of Princeton Plainsboro. Even though it had been less than a few hours since he'd last seen her, House couldn't wait to see her again.

Thirteen's words early this morning still resounded in his ears. "I just want us to have a chance, a REAL chance together, you and me . . . I want us to be . . . together."

House had been both moved and astonished at this, not only by the frankness of her declaration but also because she had apparently chosen him, as unworthy as he was, as her companion in this new romantic endeavor.

He had been just as surprised and duly impressed with Thirteen's immediate establishment of some boundaries so early in their relationship. Boundaries he felt he could live with. Hard and fast rules were another matter entirely.

But once Remy raised the subject, the wisdom inherent in keeping their newfound dynamic a secret was, in House's opinion, undeniable.

In retrospect, he never saw any benefit to himself or even Cuddy when, at the beginning of their affair, they informed others about their change in status. In fact, just the reverse proved true as explanations to friends, colleagues and family became lengthy and tiresome, putting additional strain on the newly formed couple.

Neither he nor Thirteen needed the hassle they would no doubt get from all sides once their liaison was revealed. Their age difference, working affiliation, her degenerative illness and his past Vicodin abuse were in no way, shape or form positive attributes to creating a lasting, romantic relationship.

House knew all that. Thirteen knew all that as well. No, no one need know about them. Outside opinions would only reaffirm their own worst fears and since House himself was still trying to make sense of all that had happened in such a short space of time, he didn't need to hear everyone else's viewpoint while he was still trying to form his own.

The only person House could even imagine letting in on the secret was Wilson. But as far as his best friend was concerned, House had been completely worn out by Wilson's endless lecturing and pontificating, particularly about his personal life.

And Wilson would never be able to keep his mouth shut anyway.

The thought had briefly crossed his mind to let slip to Wilson what had happened between Thirteen and himself knowing full well that Wilson would then go to Cuddy with the information. But House swiftly quashed the idea almost as soon as it occurred to him.

While the notion of a little payback toward Cuddy was on its own, a tempting one, House felt that by purposely using the experience to try and hurt Cuddy as much as she had, time and again, hurt him would also cheapen what he and Thirteen had shared.

And so far, what they had shared together had been anything but cheap.

That was why House had instantly embraced Thirteen's notion of concealment. He already knew he didn't deserve her, didn't deserve her affection and would certainly never deserve anything more.

But he wanted it. Greedily, selfishly, he needed it, needed her.

House had promised to stand by her and never abandon her, even to the very end of her life when her pain and suffering were at its worst. And she had, this morning, refused to abandon him when his pain and suffering had reached its peak.

He felt the power and significance of the enduring connection they had forged together, a heartfelt caring that had been built on a foundation of mutual emotional honesty and trust.

That's how he knew instinctively that Thirteen would keep secret his emotional breakdown, their forthright discussion, everything that had passed between them this morning.

He had in turn, every intention of keeping his word to her.

Besides, a clandestine affair could prove to be a lot of fun. There was something forbidden and dangerous about their passion which only seemed to heighten House's sense of sexual excitement while at the same time appealing to the game-playing side of his personality as well.

And not letting the cat out of the bag didn't mean that he still couldn't drop innuendoes and hints. House relished the idea of using every trick he knew to tease and verbally unhinge Thirteen's calm composure. To watch gleefully as his insinuations hit their mark and see her as she squirmed in her chair, smiling slyly while the blood rushed to her lovely, high cheekbones.

He could do that. He knew he could.

Just as he knew she would give as good as she got. House was looking forward to Thirteen's own retaliations and verbal repartee. He enthusiastically anticipated a very rousing game of manipulation, thrust and parry with a very worthy opponent.

And then afterward the best part, later on, to have her, take her, revel in her warmth and in her flesh as he made real all the veiled suggestions and threats he'd made during the day. To dominate her or be dominated by her.

That last thought made him shiver slightly with arousal and anticipation of the evening's delights.

He limped toward the hospital, realizing as he neared the front doors that if he was going to succeed at all in their consensual plan, he was going to have to purge Thirteen from his mind, at least for now.

House feared that he was being far too obvious in regards to the emotions that had surfaced within him. Along with all the thoughts boiling over in his brain, any physical manifestation of his amended feelings would make a covert operation next to impossible.

But he needn't have worried. As soon as he passed through the large, glass doors, House's smile slid from his face in correlation with his shifting mood. He frowned as the familiar fist tightened around his throat and stomach.

House knew he needed to prepare himself for another encounter with Cuddy. He needed more time. Unfortunately, time was not a luxury fate seemed ever to allow him.

So steeling himself for a fresh onslaught from his sexually frustrated ex-girlfriend and still current boss, House paused by at the main desk to retrieve his messages. As he did so, he allowed himself a furtive glance toward Cuddy's office.

It was dark.

"She called in sick today," Wilson's voice startled him out of his momentary astonishment as he sidled next to House. "What did you say to her?"

"What do you mean, what did I say to her? We're not talking, remember?" House answered, looking up from his messages only after he'd carefully composed his features.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Wilson said as he stepped in front of him, blocking his escape route. "And what the hell happened to your face? Did she hit you?"

House chuckled darkly. "I tripped. My face broke my fall."

Wilson placed his hands on his hips. "There's no way you didn't talk to her," he said. "What did you do to upset her? She wouldn't take a sick day unless . . ."

"Unless what? Unless she was actually sick? Or unless Rachel was sick or her nanny cancelled on her?" House raised his head and tilted it slightly, squinting at Wilson from the corners of his eyes.

"What else do you know? Do you know a reason WHY I would've spoken to Cuddy yesterday after purposely avoiding her for the past five weeks?" he said, continuing to size up his best friend with his laser-like stare.

Wilson flinched.

"Ah ha!" House nearly shouted. "You KNOW! She told you. Didn't she? DIDN'T SHE?"

"Keep your voice down House," Wilson whispered angrily. "Let's take this into an exam room."

Wilson spun around and walked quickly toward the clinic, House right on his heels. Exam room two did not have a chart outside so Wilson flung open the door to what he expected to be an empty room. The force of the door being thrown open startled the small Asian man who was sitting on the table.

"I'm sorry, I thought this room was empty," Wilson said as House brushed past him into the room. He quickly added, "House, we'll have to find another room."

"Na-ah," House grunted and then he turned to the man. "Get out!"

"House!"

"What? Don't you understand English? Then let me clarify." House then began to yell, _"Get out!"_ adding his own colorful metaphors in Japanese, Mandarin and Korean.

The man frowned deeply when House spoke to him in Korean and told him, not only that he was not leaving but added color of his own by telling House what he could do with himself as well.

House smiled. _"That actually isn't a bad idea,"_ he answered in Korean. _"But I really don't think you'll want to stay here while my lover and I finish our fight. The thing is, we always get really worked up when we argue and we find that we have to do a lot more than kiss and make up when we're through. A lot more."_

The man quickly hopped off the table, hurriedly putting on his shirt and walking past Wilson.

"House, what did you say . . . ?" Wilson began.

"_When did you get back from South America?" _House asked the patient.

"_How did you know?"_

"_Because that's no ordinary rash,"_ House responded. _"Here." _He reached into his pocket and took out a prescription pad, hurriedly writing on it._ "Get this filled at the pharmacy. And next time you take a trip without your wife, try to go somewhere that doesn't have beach parasites."_

Wilson saw the man's eyes go wide with surprise.

"_How did you know? That I didn't go with my wife?" _the man asked.

"_Your wedding band slipped. You're perfectly tan on that entire finger meaning you weren't wearing your ring while you were soaking up the rays on adulterer's beach. Now,"_ House said as he handed the man the prescription. _"Get out."_

Just as the man was closing the door behind him, House added, "And before you leave make sure you get tested for that STD you no doubt picked up too."

The man turned but before he could open his mouth, House said, "No, I'm not gonna tell you how I know you can speak English. I'm not even gonna tell you how I know you have an STD. Go!"

The man did leave this time, leaving a smug looking House and a very confused looking Wilson alone.

"And now," House said, turning his full attention back upon Wilson, "What's your excuse?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Why are you so sure that I'm to blame for Cuddy's absence this morning?"

"I'm not sure. I just thought that maybe . . ."

"Oh no. You were sure. Positively sure. Which can only mean that Cuddy told you that she was going to send me the email yesterday."

"What email?"

House sighed. "Wilson, you have a crappy poker face. When did she tell you about it? And more importantly, why didn't you tell me?"

Wilson closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Okay, okay. Because I thought that maybe, just maybe she was reaching out to you. For the first time since the breakup, she was trying to reach you."

"By firing my ass in an email?"

"She didn't fire you House. She asked for your resignation. That means that you would at least have to talk to her, that you two would have to talk to each other."

"When did you know?" House quietly asked.

"She showed me a rough draft on Monday."

"So you've known for two days that she was going to demand, not ask Wilson, demand my resignation? And you let me get blindsided with that?"

Wilson's jaw dropped and he shifted uncomfortably. "Cuddy didn't mean it that way and neither did I. It wasn't meant to hurt you. It was meant to encourage you . . . to move on, to move forward. I didn't think . . ."

"That's right you didn't think," House said bitterly. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my friend Wilson? Because the Wilson I know wouldn't have thrown me under the bus like that. The Wilson I know would have given me a heads up that I was going to be put on the chopping block by my spiteful ex-girlfriend."

"House," Wilson said, no longer meeting his friend's angry glare, "I thought ANY communication between you and Cuddy would be a good thing. I thought it had to be better than the silent treatment and the walking on eggshells routine the two of you have been giving each other since your breakup. I thought that once you two started talking that maybe . . . you could work things out."

House limped to the door and grabbed the handle. "You thought wrong," he said as he opened the door.

"But . . . you two . . . you can't give up now. You two love each other. You still love each other."

"Wrong again," House said. "I loved Cuddy, for who and what she is. She loved the IDEA of who she thought she might be able to make out of me. After first tearing down the current me completely of course."

"Did you even try?" Wilson said, looking back at House with a sudden blaze of fury in his eyes. "Really try? Or were you your normal self? Throwing everything away just for the sake of it? Arguing with her and then going out and looking for a fight in some dive bar?" Wilson pointed to House's bruised face. "How long are you going to punish yourself . . . and her? Just so you can stay miserable and alone?"

"Yeah," House said, a supreme tiredness in his voice. "That does sound like me, doesn't it? That's exactly what YOU would expect from me. There's no way someone like me would go to Cuddy and tell her how I really feel, that I'm still in love with her, that I want her and her daughter and me to be a family. I could never explain to her that in order for anything to work between us, she's got to love and accept me for who I am, right now, just as I do her. A jerk like me could never say any of that."

Wilson's mouth gaped open once more. "DID you say any of that?"

House looked at Wilson full in the face. His expression held so much pain and regret that Wilson, realizing far too late that he was once again guilty of misjudging his friend, found he could no longer meet his gaze. He looked at the floor.

"Of course not," House said flatly as he limped out of the door.


	15. Chapter 15

**15. **

After leaving House's apartment, Thirteen immediately felt a restlessness settle in upon her. She drove leisurely through the morning streets of Princeton, taking a longer route back to her apartment to give herself time for additional rumination.

Less than an hour ago she felt so sure. But away from House, far from the sincerity of his azure gaze, the calming warmth of his embrace, Remy began to second guess herself.

What had she been thinking? Did she honestly expect House to keep their new status as lovers a secret?

Surely the temptation to rub his second in command's arrogant nose in the fact that he, House, was now banging Foreman's ex-girlfriend would prove too much?

Or wouldn't House's need to boast to the others at work about his sexual prowess overshadow any promise he had made to her? For instance, wouldn't he want to leave no doubt in Chase's mind that the younger man's former pursuit of Remy was now in vain and that the door to her bedroom had just been slammed shut by no less than House himself?

And then there was Wilson. Good Lord Wilson! The oncologist was only the biggest blabbermouth in the entire hospital, maybe even in the state of New Jersey.

Of course House, like an oversized child, couldn't help but divulge his latest sexual conquest to his best friend. And then Wilson would feel compelled to spread the news of House and Remy's relationship all over PPTH . . . after first informing Lisa Cuddy of this most recent development in the microcosm of her hospital.

Cuddy. The now familiar plummeting feeling associated with that name rolled through her stomach as Remy realized that even if House were to keep his mouth shut, the idea of them carrying on their affair in secret while under the jealous scrutiny of House's former lover was a remote possibility at best.

No matter what House was currently working through as far as his feelings for Cuddy were concerned, Thirteen knew that if Lisa found out, her retribution for Remy's daring to supersede her in House's bed would be both swift and severe. Thirteen would most assuredly lose her position at PPTH.

And that would be the least Cuddy could do.

Thirteen shivered but not with the cold as she climbed out of her car and walked up the steps to her apartment. What if Cuddy was still on speaking terms with her creepy ex-boyfriend, Lucas Douglas? Even the barest of meddling by a private detective could make Remy's life a living hell.

The fact that she'd served jail time would have to come out. And then, the reason for that jail time. If her father were to discover the part she'd played in her brother's death . . . Remy felt the tears well up in her eyes as she imagined her father's face upon hearing the news. The look of crushing disappointment and hurt, she shook her head to try and clear the image.

But then another, just as horrifying thought crossed her mind making Thirteen nearly retch with fear. What if this had been House's plan all along? What if he'd only slept with her in order to use her as a tool for manipulating Cuddy back into his bed?

Mulling all these thoughts over in her head, by the time she reached the door to her apartment, Thirteen felt as if she were sleepwalking. She turned the key and numbly moved into the loft, taking off her coat and scarf and throwing them onto the couch after her purse.

Remy lingered there, looking at her purse for quite some time. Her purse had been the motive for her return to House's apartment minutes after he'd banished her from his presence. It was the reason she'd found him still on the couch, alone in the dark, in pain, sobbing in desolation and fear.

And that was the reason her return simply could not have been orchestrated. Walking in on House like that was completely unexpected. Certainly he never would have allowed himself to lose control in front of her. So how could anything that happened between them from that point forward be false or even planned?

She turned her head, her gaze moving from her purse to the nearby table. The light on her answering machine was blinking periodically, signaling an incoming message. Moving forward, she pressed the "play" button and then stepped back to listen.

The machine beeped and there was a long pause. Just when she expected nothing but silence the familiar, mellifluous tones floated out of the speaker and wrapped themselves around her like a blanket. In one swift movement, House's voice not only dispelled her fears but succeeded in arousing her for yet another time this morning.

"_Thirteen? Damn, I hate talking on these things. Where the hell are you?" _

Thirteen felt like she was walking on air as she headed to her bedroom, the weight of her insecurities lifted suddenly from her shoulders. She fell face down on the bed sighing with need as she listened to House's voice wafting in from the living room.

"_It'll be clinic hours until doomsday if we don't find a new case. So you need to get your ass . . .," _there was a pregnant pause._ "Hmmm. You've gotta fine little ass did I mention that before? Is it completely harassing of me, in a purely sexual way, to tell you that I already miss your ass? Will you be filing a complaint? Or can we move right on to the punishment phase of your sexual harassment lawsuit? You DO realize that if you make said complaint, YOU will be the one receiving the punishment?"_

She imagined House lying behind and on top of her, thrusting inside her once more.

"_The upside for you, well for the both of us really, is that you get to choose what form your punishment will take." _

She slid her right hand away from her face and tucked it underneath her stomach. Slowly, she allowed her fingers to creep down, moving her hand between her clothes and body while curling her lower torso ever so slightly, finally brushing her fingertips between her thighs.

"_What would you like? To be tied up?"_

Thirteen's breath caught in her throat as her hand began to work its magic on her most sensitive area. She moved her face to bury her head into the pillow knowing she would be unable to stop herself from crying out as she began to spiral upward.

"_Yeah, tied up across my bed. That's the punishment for you, isn't it? I'd make you writhe. You'd be begging me for mercy."_

"House. I need you. I want you inside me," she said as her hips began to lift and fall on the bed.

Her hand was moving faster, creating a delicious rhythm with her now driving pelvis.

"_But no matter how much you beg, how much you scream, I won't let up. _

"God House. You are so good. I want you. Harder. I want you now. Make me come!"

_I'll make you come for me. For me alone."_

A few last flicks of her fingertips and then she plunged two fingers inside her already dripping core.

She let loose a final scream as she felt her womb contract. Again, her lips could only form one word, one name, the name that would now and perhaps forever, define the heights of her pleasure, the depths of her despair.

"House!"

Her scream was so loud, the pillow barely muffled the sound.

"_God what the hell is wrong with me? I'm hard as a rock now. And you're still not here? Get over here and service me woman! Damn! Now I'm going to have to stay at my desk all morning or at least until you get here and give me some release. What is this effect you have on me? _

She took her right hand away and lifted it up toward her pillow. Using both hands to brace herself, she rose up, still breathing hard, her knees trembling as she put her full weight onto her feet, pushing herself off the bed.

"_Can I be more direct? Your presence is required. NOW. So get down here. And then come down here if you know what I mean. Oh yeah, and make sure you remember to wear something sexy. Don't make me wait. The longer I have to wait, the more severe your punishment will be. So on second thought, take your time."_ There was a long beep and then silence as House's message finished.


	16. Chapter 16

**16.**

Remy couldn't believe it. This was the most sex she'd had since . . .

Her face broke into a sly smile. This was the most sex she'd _ever_ had in one day. And considering that she had never been anything less than voracious in the satiation of her lustful appetites, that was really saying something.

What was more, her day was far from over. She had invited House over after work that very night.

A thrill of anticipation rushed through her as she thought about touching him, tasting him, having him, _all_ of him once more. And since House would be coming to her, she would have him in her own familiar environment, on her own turf. Would he act any differently toward her without his home field advantage?

No matter. What took precedence for her was that he would be there and his ensuing arrival later that evening definitely called for a little quick clean-up. When she was a girl, her father used to refer to this style of cleaning as, "a lick and a promise."

Remy moved hurriedly from room to room, picking up some of the clutter lying around as she went.

She went to her bedroom and made the bed, putting clean sheets on the mattress and smiling to herself as she ran one small hand along the silken texture of the fresh linen. She realized that if she and House gave her sheets the same sultry workout they'd just had this morning she would need to change them again tomorrow. So she started a load of laundry, throwing in her sheets and towels and a few pairs of socks she'd found under the bed.

Thirteen wandered out to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to check what sort of supplies and snacks she had on hand. She was thankful to find plenty of beer but other than that, her cupboards were nearly bare. She'd probably have to swing by the store on the way home and pick up a few things for tonight, unless they decided to order out.

Or unless they were to forgo food altogether in favor of an all-night lovemaking fest.

Remy laughed right out loud at the thought. So far, she and House seemed to be completely wrapped up in the pleasures of each other's body to the exclusion of nearly everything else. While she was thoroughly enjoying this aspect of their newly formed bond, she also knew that she would most likely have to be the one to remind them both of the basic necessities of life in order to stave off hunger and dehydration.

For House seemed already far too obsessed and driven.

As the focus of his current fixation however, Remy found House's attentions stimulating as well as pleasing.

But what if House's fascination was only the result of his addictive personality? What if she were merely his latest replacement for Vicodin?

Remy was not sure whether she wanted to know or even if she cared. Her own wishes and feelings about him overrode everything else. She already knew that she wanted more of this, more of him, so much more of House.

Still smiling, she returned to the bedroom, making her way over to the closet to choose clean clothes for the day. She chose clothes to match her mood and brighter outlook. A low-cut, blue blouse that brought out the color of her eyes, form fitting slacks that hugged her lean, feminine curves and finally, because House's answering machine message still resounded in her ears, she picked out her flirtiest, sexiest pumps.

These strappy little shoes were more than adequate to comply with House's request for her to wear "something sexy."

No doubt about it. The shoes were "fuck me" pumps. Any man and even her female lovers who'd ever seen her wear those shoes immediately got weak in the knees and hot under the collar.

Thirteen recalled that they had been Eric's favorites. But the fact that by wearing the pumps she would be cock teasing both Foreman and House was an even greater incentive to slip them on. For Foreman, there was no hope of a payoff.

But House, House was another matter.

Thirteen's lips again curled into a sly smile. She found herself looking forward to House's innuendo, his sexual banter. He would try and throw her off, tease her in front of her colleagues to get a reaction out of her, see if he could embarrass her.

She'd actually divined as much this morning before her own fears and projections had sidetracked her. Remy remembered the glint in House's eye as the idea finally dawned on him how much fun he could have with their clandestine affair, how much entertainment value he could get out of it.

Why had she been so worried before? This was an entirely new game for him. House was the ultimate game player and would go to any lengths to win. If the goal was to keep their relationship a secret, then she need not be concerned that House would be the one to divulge the information. For him to do so would be tantamount to losing, to admitting defeat. And surely that was the last thing House had in mind.

His inability therefore, to reveal their secret and yet forever find himself teetering on the edge of exposure would appeal to House's scheming, playful side. And by wearing these sexy shoes she was, in effect, fulfilling an unspoken promise to House, to engage him, tempt him, tease him and play with him. Remy hadn't realized until just now how she was so looking forward to the game herself.

The supposition that she was about to be dowsed to the fullest degree with House's boyish, mischievous nature reminded Remy that it had been a long time since she'd been intimate with a man.

After her short-lived relationship with Eric Foreman sputtered and died out, Remy had chosen to restrict her lovers to her own sex. Her decision, unconscious or otherwise had been born, not out of some unforeseen retribution against Foreman or the male sex in general, but out of a natural feeling of emotional sympathy and need.

She sought out lovers, therefore, who were understanding, compassionate and most importantly, submissive. Yet these same qualities, though initially attractive, quickly turned into reasons for resentment. Remy moved heedlessly from one lover to the next, unable to make a lasting connection with another person incapable of fully engaging and challenging her mentally, emotionally and physically.

It had nothing to do with the fact that they were women. Remy simply found herself unable to sustain a relationship where she was trying to maintain complete control. Whereas the first flush of power gave her a false sense of security that she could not be hurt, she began to realize that by attempting to stay in control she was playing it safe. And by doing so she smothered any chance she might have for the kind of give and take necessary that would create the truly soul churning love she genuinely desired.

So she made the conscious decision to search for the love of her life, whoever he or she might be. She would relinquish control by throwing off her fears and especially by rejecting that which came to her quick or easy.

Remy smiled again as she thought of House. House, for all the inherent dangers that lay within becoming involved with her unstable boss was the exact opposite of all the mistakes she had recently been guilty of. She realized that by choosing House, she was choosing to put herself and her heart in harm's way. But in direct correlation with the increase in danger, the possibility for true rapture went up as well.

For House was anything but quick or easy. He was an unknown quantity: dynamic, risky, complicated, difficult.

And he was a man.

Remy had not realized how much she'd missed sex with a man until this morning. House's masculinity was nearly overpowering . She reveled in the sheer forcefulness and drive of his sex, his scent, the lower vibration of his voice, the solid feel of his body on top and inside of her drove her into the highest reaches of ecstasy.

Even in comparison with male lovers from her past, Remy could already see that there simply was no contest. House's physical attributes coupled with his focus and sensuality put him head and shoulders above anyone else in her considerable experience.

Thirteen shook her head to clear it once more. If she went on thinking along these lines, she would need to lie down on the bed again. And she did need to get to work sometime this morning, if not for herself, then to assist House out of his current "predicament."

The light sheen of sweat she'd just acquired from her most recent workouts, housecleaning and otherwise, to her mind necessitated another, quick shower. She clutched her change of clothes tightly against her breasts and stepped out of the warm bedroom. The cooler air of the hall chilled the moisture on her cheeks.

Her own tears surprised her.

And yet she already knew in her heart what they were for. Her emotions, all of them, had become so wrapped up in her passion that Remy hardly knew where one ended and the other began.

Anger for what she perceived to be Wilson and Cuddy's ill-treatment of House, her own fears of losing him, sorrow at the thought of what he was capable of doing to himself, hatred for the part of herself that she knew already felt bound to him, and love . . .

My God, was it love? This sudden? This overwhelming?

Remy walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Then she sat down, still fully clothed, on the lid of the toilet seat, put her face in her hands and wept. She cried hard, nearly as hard as she'd seen House sob that morning, harder than she'd ever cried in her life, even at the loss of her brother.

For the realization hit her fully. She did love House. She loved him completely and utterly and with every fiber of her being, with every ounce of her soul.

Her love had not sprung suddenly upon her during the events of this one morning. No. As she wept, she slowly comprehended that her love for this difficult man had crept up on her, stealthily stalking her over the course of the three years she'd known him.

Perhaps she'd loved him the day he'd first called her "Thirteen." Or maybe it was when he forced her to confront her own mortality. Or more likely it had occurred during the many times House plucked her from the jaws of her own self-destruction by involving her in case after fascinating case.

Could it be that she had even dated Foreman for the vague similarities that he held to House?

This thought made her sob with renewed vigor. How much time had she wasted? Why hadn't she seen it before? How could she have been so blind, to House, to the complex yet fragile man that he really was? And more importantly, how could she have been so blind to her own feelings?

House had moved her, angered her, tempted her and coaxed her back from the edge. Because he had been there so many times himself he had in the end, always, always come through for her. And it was House alone who had made her want to be a real doctor again, be a strong woman again, to live again, to love again.

And now that love, so often misplaced, had found its true home.

House had done all of that because underneath his hardened, scarred exterior, he had honestly cared for her. How had she missed his caring heart all along?

Remy turned on the shower's faucet. As the steam filled the room, she looked into the mirror. Staring back at her, her own reflection, her cheeks still flush from her latest orgasm, stared back. She saw her eyes, filled with the last vestiges of her tears but also wide with wonder and steeled with a new determination.

Thirteen had finally reached the conclusion that against all the odds, against her better judgment and even against reason itself, she loved House. And tied to that new realization, new responsibilities that would come with it.

It was her responsibility to love House for who and what he was right now, in this moment and to keep loving him, no matter how many times he stumbled and fell. She knew that she would need all of her emotional strength to fight for her love for him. She would battle against the opinions of others who would no doubt tell her what a fool she was for becoming involved with her boss, with someone who was more than a few years her senior, with an uncaring shell of a man, a physical and emotional cripple.

Remy also knew she would at times have to overcome her own worst fears and insecurities if she and House were to have any chance at all together.

But her greatest struggle would undoubtedly be against House himself. It would be a question of when, not if, he would turn in upon himself and begin a downward spiral initiated by his own brand of self-loathing.

Could she prevail against all others to stand together with the man she loved? Could she be strong enough to withstand the storms, both outer and inner, that it would take to stay with House? Could she survive the demons released by House himself when he became conscious of the commitment her heart had already made to him?

Would she, in the end, keep her word to him, the promise that she had made only this morning when his torrent of misery finally became unleashed? When all else had gone asunder and the wolf was at the door, when House was at his worst and when he needed her the most, could she fulfill her promise and stay with him?

As Remy stepped under the warmth of the shower's spray, her fears and reservations echoed through her. She wasn't sure.

But her heart was willing to try.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: So Thirteen has realized on her own that she's in love with House. She's also realized that she has actually been in love with him for quite some time. The fantastic sex she had with him all morning long only sealed the deal.

But they both have to leave their little protective bubble of just two some time. Will they be able to keep up appearances and keep their new romantic relationship on the down low?

I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

**17.**

Half an hour later, Remy walked through the familiar glass front doors, entering the main lobby of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. As she passed the reception desk, she glanced somewhat apprehensively to her right. She was surprised to find Cuddy's office silent and dark even though it was still morning.

Thirteen paused.

Strange that House had not mentioned Cuddy's absence when he left his message earlier.

But stranger still was Cuddy's obvious refusal to deal with matters at hand, matters that she had in fact initiated herself. Cuddy had been the one to demand House's resignation yesterday. And whatever happened between her and House during their relationship up to and including their final showdown last night should not have deterred the Dean of Medicine of the entire hospital from facing the music or her chief diagnostician today.

Remy continued toward the elevators, turning over Cuddy's inexplicable behavior in her mind. One minute, Cuddy was all business and the overbearing master of all she surveyed. The next, she was running for cover.

While House was definitely a force to be reckoned with in his own right, Cuddy was still his boss. And from what she'd heard through the observations of her own coworkers, House's fellows, Cuddy had also been the controlling entity in their personal relationship as well.

But judging from her behavior this morning, it seemed clear to Thirteen that Lisa Cuddy was nothing more than a paper tiger. This singular insight went a long way in helping to quell some of the fears that had settled upon Remy's shoulders since her recent acknowledgment of her own deeper feelings for House.

When she reached her floor, she quickly glanced in to see that House's office was empty. A whisper of a smile crossed her features as she considered the possible scenarios that may have gotten House out of his earlier "predicament" and away from his desk.

Bypassing House's office, she strode directly into the conference room. Foreman, Chase and Taub were already there, going over various folders in a determined search for possible new cases since House had, once again, solved their latest one early that morning.

Foreman glanced up as she entered. He inadvertently did a double take and his eyes widened as he scanned her from her head to toe and back again. He lowered his eyebrows. From the expression on his face, he obviously assumed that Remy had purposely worn her shoes as an extra punishment for his misdiagnosis and berating of her own theory this morning.

By the time Foreman's dark brown eyes had settled on her face once more, Remy's smile had broadened considerably. She had surmised correctly. The shoes had come in handy to annoy him. If they also succeeded in teasing and arousing House, she would be two for two.

Taub handed her a folder as she sat down and she, like her coworkers, began perusing its contents to see if the patient detailed within would interest House. The team sat quietly reading for 10 minutes longer when in a rush of motorcycle exhaust, leather jacket and aftershave, House bustled into the office. Not a word was spoken as House threw his backpack onto the chair and took off his jacket, hanging it up on the coat rack.

Had House gone back out after calling her from the hospital this morning? Thirteen's questions regarding House's whereabouts were instantly put to bed as he limped past her. She inhaled covertly and deeply. The rich scents of leather and aftershave set her motor firing and she could barely contain her desire to jump House then and there and straddle him on the conference table.

"Good morning class," House said in a purposely accentuated sweet-toned voice. "And what have we got for show-and-tell today?"

Grateful for an excuse to move right onto the next case without being mocked for his errors in the last one, Foreman spoke up immediately, espousing the benefits of taking on the patient contained in the folder he was currently holding.

When he finally finished listing symptoms, House grunted.

"Is anybody else gonna make a suggestion or are you all gonna allow Foreman to redeem himself so easily from this morning's screw up?" he said, pulling a serious face.

Chase and Taub chuckled before they went on to push the agendas in their folders. All the while Foreman gave them both a toxic glare.

"Great. Now would the chick like to add anything? Oh, I'm sorry. Was that ungallant of me? I guess I should be a little more considerate of our own little diversity project. And by diversity, I mean the open mindedness with which Thirteen chooses her sexual partners."

Thirteen smiled. "Yes, let's discuss my sexual preferences for a change, shall we House? I mean, that way you can live vicariously through me the next time you have to pay for your own hook-ups right?"

"Always money well spent," House returned. "And you'd be surprised. There's a lot to be said for having women sober when you have sex with them. You should try it yourself some time. Just for a change of pace."

Chase and Taub looked back and forth between House and Thirteen as if they were watching a tennis match, their mouths open and slightly askew. Foreman however sat like a statue and continued to stare at the folder in front of him although he obviously wasn't reading it.

"Thanks for the advice House. I might just do that. Maybe the next time I have a threesome."

Remy felt her blood pounding in her veins as she looked at House, a sly smile crossing his handsome face, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.

"Well played ma'am," House said. "Why don't we all just focus on that mental image for a few moments shall we? Then those of us who still can will stand up and go and run an MRI, a full blood panel and a tox-screen on the patient in . . ." House circled his finger around his fellows before finally allowing it to point at one of them while at the same time stating, "Chase's folder. "

Chase languidly stood up. The smile that lit up his face was an obvious smile of triumph.

"Chase has apparently volunteered to do his tests together with . . ." House revolved his finger again and Chase looked hopefully from House to Thirteen.

House's finger stopped on Taub, "Tiny. Thirteen and Foreman will go to the patient's home and see if they can find anything interesting . . . or edible. I suggest you try the patient's underwear drawer for the latter," he added, purposefully smirking at Remy.

"House," Foreman rumbled. "There's no need to . . ."

"Ask you to do your job? Apparently there is. Now all of you go out amongst the world of the sick and do some good," House waved them away to perform their tasks before any further protests could be filed.

As one, the fellows slid their chairs away from the conference table and stood up ready to move to the various jobs they had been assigned.

"Oh and Thirteen," House said, an uncharacteristic lilt to his voice. "Nice shoes."

Thirteen turned to face him, a momentary blush rising to her cheeks. She nodded as she said, "Yeah, these shoes have always been . . . popular whenever I wear them."

The other fellows stopped in their tracks, looking from House back to Thirteen. Surprise was written on their faces except for Foreman whose immovable features could not hide the anger blazing in his shining, dark eyes.

"That's because you usually only wear them and nothing else, right? Those are 'do me' pumps if ever I saw them." He paused before turning his head to Foreman and adding, "That right Foreman?"

Thirteen blushed more furiously this time but lucky for her, Taub and Chase never noticed. Their attentions were immediately focused on Foreman.

"What's your point House?" Foreman said, unable to hide the exasperation in his voice. "Or are you just digging your own grave by having this many witnesses to Remy's upcoming sexual harassment suit?"

House turned to Foreman with a slight smile curving the corners of his mouth. Thirteen couldn't help but notice the wicked glint in his eyes. She smiled to herself as she heard House's slight inhale, gearing up to eviscerate his subordinate for so foolishly taking the bait.

"Not at all," House replied. "And who's this Remy person? But I don't think Thirteen will sue ME for repeating something YOU said. No, she doesn't have an axe to grind with me over that."

Foreman chewed on his lower lip for a moment before he spun on his heels and started for the door.

"Yeah, nude with these shoes sounds most definitely like your style Foreman," Thirteen said, her statement once more stopping Foreman in his tracks. Chase and Taub looked expectantly between Thirteen, Foreman and House, like two collies salivating over a single meat bone.

House smiled more broadly. He knew she wouldn't let him down. "And what's MY style Thirteen?"

Remy turned to him slowly, her back to the others as she licked her lips and gave House her broadest, most seductive smile. "How on earth would I know where your perverse desires lay House? Although I would naturally assume it would reflect the content of whatever the latest porn site you've been perusing."

"You would?" House said drawing himself up to his full height and shifting slightly to compensate for the way his jeans were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. "You know it's never really safe to assume anything with me. But if you want, I could draw you a detailed diagram," he said, the wicked gleam in his eyes dancing merrily. "Or come sit on daddy's lap and give him a little lap dance while he looks up his internet porn."

Thirteen flicked her gaze below House's beltline and back to his gorgeous eyes. She slowly batted her eyelashes as a signal to him that she considered their first post coital repartee to have been decided in her favor. House faintly nodded his assent.

"Thanks for the offer," she said holding one hand up to him, "But I think I'll take a pass on that right now. Besides, it's not necessary. It would take me all of about two seconds to divine your fantasy."

"Which is?"

She felt her face flush again as she said, "Hmmm. These shoes, fishnet stockings, the smallest, barest of thongs . . . am I getting warmer?"

"I don't know about him but I definitely am," Chase muttered loud enough for everyone else to hear.

"You forgot a little leather collar around your throat, a see-through pushup bra and two pair of fur-lined handcuffs around your wrists and ankles," House said.

"Oooh Daddy," Thirteen said, her voice low and sultry. "I've been SO bad. I think I might need a spanking."

"I think I might need to throw up," Foreman boomed.

House couldn't help it. He laughed.

Save for Thirteen, no one had heard House laugh before. They all turned to stare at him.

"Thirteen won't have to file sexual harassment charges against me. If you don't go and do your jobs right now, you're all fired!"

Thirteen winked at him and then turned to face her colleagues, a passive mask settling across her lovely features. "C'mon, we've been dismissed. Let's leave him alone to look up his porn and OD on Vicodin and Viagra."

"Thirteen?" Chase and Taub said together. She stopped just as she placed her hand on the door handle.

"No and no," she said to first one and then the other before turning to face Foreman. "And already been there, done that and bought the t-shirt so, no." She swung the door wide and exited leaving the four men still standing in House's office somewhat perplexed and more than a little warm.

"Who else is hungry?" House said. "Foreman, how about while you and Thirteen are out you remember to bring back some donuts? You know the sugar and spice ones with the holes. Or better yet, the sweet cream-filled kind." House looked into their faces. They all betrayed the fact that their collective imaginations were all working overtime.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Go! Do!" he said.

There was a momentary Three Stooges commotion in the doorway as the three fellows bumped into each other in their haste to leave House's office and follow Remy down the corridor.

"And bring back plenty of napkins," House shouted after Foreman. "That creamy filling always runs down my fingers and I have to lick it off."

House chuckled to himself as he watched them make their flustered exits. He turned and sat down behind his desk, rubbing his right leg as he leaned back in his chair and placed his feet up, crossing his long legs at the ankles. At the same time, he raised his arms behind him and clasped his hands behind his neck, supporting his head as he looked up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and smiled.

He let out a low whistle and then quietly said to himself, "Let the games begin."


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: I personally feel it's kinda cool that the series finale ended with House rising like a Phoenix from the flames to start anew. :)_

_Anyway, next chapter. And in answer to your question, yes you do sometimes need these chapters to show how peripheral characters react to a change that has already occured. It validates the change._

_But I wouldn't leave you completely without at least some smut talk. So here goes._

**18.**

"Was that absolutely necessary?" Foreman said turning to Remy once they seated themselves in his car. Of course he had insisted on driving.

"What?" she asked. She had been sitting in the passenger seat absentmindedly brushing her hand back and forth across her right leg. She was thinking of House, thinking of her legs wrapped tightly around his hips as they slowly moved in unison, finding their own, smooth rhythm and gradually building the momentum up to a more explosive rocking action. Foreman's question jolted her suddenly from her own thoughts.

"That!" he said, putting the key in the ignition and starting the engine. "That whole business back there. You. And House. What the hell WAS all that?"

"God, why don't you just relax? You know House. He's always trying to get a rise out of any one of us, preferably all of us. It's not my fault you took his bait. And just ran with it."

Foreman threw the car into reverse and backed out of his parking space. "But you didn't have to play along with him." He put the car in drive and tamped his right foot down, hurtling the car toward the main thoroughfare.

"Yeah, right," Thirteen said rolling her eyes. "It's always so much easier to fight House every single step of the way. I thought you'd learned the futility of doing that already. And slow down Jeff Gordon. You're in a parking lot, not a race track."

Foreman obligingly lifted his foot off the gas. "But you didn't have to cheer him on. House needs no encouragement to be a total pain in the ass. I would've thought YOU'D have learned that already too."

Remy looked over at Foreman who had been keeping his eyes resolutely on the road in front of him since they'd exited the hospital's parking lot.

Everything had changed since this morning. Instead of aggravating her, Foreman seemed as if he could be waved away as simply as a pesky fly. Her morning spent in House's arms had made her calmer, more collected. All of the pent-up hostility and antagonism she'd been feeling had drained away leaving Remy feeling more tranquil and serene than she'd ever felt before. She felt magnanimous, even toward her ex-boyfriend.

"Okay. You're right. I shouldn't have egged him on. But you didn't need to be such an ass yourself this morning. My theory had just as much merit, even more than yours." She turned away from him, folding her arms across her chest.

Foreman sighed. "You're right. I'm, I'm sorry. Hey, even though I'm only your friend now, not your boyfriend, doesn't mean that I'm always gonna say or do the right thing. I mean, since I was so obviously the perfect boyfriend all the time."

She turned back to look at him and saw a wide smirk stretching across his face. She smiled.

"True. How could I forget?" she said. And then as she saw his grin broaden even more, she reached over and slapped his arm. "Hey! You don't get to have sex fantasies about me anymore. Especially while you're driving and especially if I'm sitting in the passenger seat right next to you!"

Foreman chuckled, his smile broad and genuine. "Uh, uh. You have absolutely no control over what goes on in my head. And," he glanced at her, raising his eyebrows as he did so, "If you didn't want me to have sex fantasies about you then why did you wear those shoes?"

It was Thirteen's turn to smirk. "What? These old things?"

"You KNOW I always liked you in those shoes. Don't play all innocent with me. You wore them on purpose. You wore them because you wanted to get back at me for arguing with you this morning."

Remy's perfect eyebrows raised a bit. "Maybe."

"And House calling you out about them being "do me" pumps was just icing on the cake."

It was fortunate that Foreman still had his eyes on the road. He missed Remy's knowing, satisfied smile as she thought once more of House. And of what she planned on doing to him after work tonight, wearing those shoes and precious little else. Unless it involved the skimpy clothing and maybe even the handcuffs that House himself had suggested. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks once more.

"Mmmmmaybe," she said.

Foreman laughed. As he did so, Remy felt the tension between them release. She laughed too. They rode the rest of the way to the patient's home in companionable silence.

Once there, they searched the patient's home quickly and efficiently working as a team. They found nothing suspicious and no obvious toxins but before they left, Remy decided to take House at his word and open the patient's underwear drawer. When she found the edible panties that House had jokingly alluded to earlier, she speed dialed him on her cell phone. House picked up on the second ring.

"How's my little sugar and spice donut?" he said.

"How did you know?" Remy asked. Foreman was standing not three feet away from her.

"That my favorite donut was calling me? Or about the edible underwear? Is that ALL you found? If so, keep looking. She's got some flavored oils around there somewhere."

"We've already searched the place House."

"Did you look under the bed?"

"I didn't. Foreman . . ."

"Yeah, well look again. See if there's a trap door or something. There should be some sort of small box or container. Something she'd put her most embarrassing sex toys in."

Thirteen relayed the message to Foreman who got down on his hands and knees and started looking more thoroughly for hidden places underneath the floor.

House's voice tickled Remy's ear once more. "Maybe you're my little cream filled pastry. Yeah that's it. Filled with warm, delicious melt-in-your-mouth goodness."

Remy felt her face flush as she desperately tried to focus her mind on anything else but House's words and the increasing state of excitement they were creating within her.

"House . . ."

"Hey, wait a minute. Are you checking out Foreman's ass while he's bending over? If you are, I'm gonna be very jealous. And you are gonna need SUCH a spanking."

"Shut up House."

"Are you still wearing those shoes? I can't wait to have them waving up in the air when your ankles are wrapped around my hips and I'm pushing into you so hard and fast . . ."

"Got it!" Foreman said.

Remy sighed with relief. "He found something. Foreman found something."

"Yeah, so have I. Something long and . . . Are you breathing heavy right now? You are, aren't you? You want me. You want me really bad. Right now. Don't you?"

"Of course."

"Score a point for me this round," House said, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice.

Foreman rose up from the floor, shaking his head in near disbelief. "House called it," he said. "There's not only sex toys in here but videos. Real hardcore stuff too."

"Bring it in," House said having overheard Foreman. "We'll run tests on the stuff she ingested and the porn I'll just have to confiscate. I was running low anyway."

"You sure you'll need it?" Remy asked, drawing out her question for effect.

House was silent for a moment. Then he said, sounding thoughtful, "Mmmmm. Maybe not. I have pornos at home that we haven't even begun to reenact. And since I already know from this morning's conversation that you're into dress up or in this case . . ."

"Dress down," they said together.

"Who's getting a dressing down?" Foreman said. "Hey I found the stuff."

"Yeah right. Not until after I told him to look again," House answered once more before Thirteen could relay the question. "Just get both your asses back in here, his paranoid one and your hot little one that SO needs a spanking. If we wait to treat, the patient won't be alive long enough to deny that crap is hers. So we're starting treatment. Once I've saved her lecherous existence, tell Foreman that we're moving right onto his patient."

"Without even a break in between? You're industrious. Aren't you the busy little beaver," she said smiling wryly and motioning for Foreman to start his exit toward the car.

"Beaver? Well I definitely have enough solid hardwood to feed any hungry beaver."

Remy closed and locked the front door behind her as Foreman opened the driver's side door.

"Ooh, I know you do. And I'm SO hungry."

"Well you come on back here then," House said. Remy heard a deep rumble in his voice, not unlike a tiger's purr. "Daddy will make sure he fills that hungry beaver right up."

"Hmmm. Oh yeah. As God as my witness, I'll never be hungry again."

House laughed. "Not after I'm through with you Miss Scarlett. Oh and tell Big Sam to step on it. But don't forget the donuts."

Thirteen assumed her professional demeanor again as she approached Foreman sitting in the car. "See you there," she answered and ended the call.

"What else did he have to say?" Foreman asked as he backed out of the driveway.

"He said not to forget to pick up the donuts. He's also starting the treatment on this patient and moving right on to the patient from your file."

"Really? That's . . . odd."

Remy shrugged. She was reticent to commit herself to a judgment call on House.

"What?" Foreman asked.

"What?"

"Now you're being odd."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. But you just hung up from a conversation with House and you look . . ."

"What?" Remy asked again, nearly trembling in anticipation of his answer.

"Happy. I haven't seen you this happy since . . ." he gazed over at her with something that looked like a touch of melancholy in his eyes. "I don't think I've ever seen you this happy."

"I'm not . . ."

"And you're in love," it wasn't a question.

"Are you jealous?" she asked hoping to put him on the defensive or at least, change the subject.

"No." He looked back toward the windshield and sighed. "No I'm not. And thank you for not even trying to deny it."

Remy was taken aback. She answered simply, "You're welcome."

"Is he . . . or maybe she, good to you?"

She breathed an internal sigh of relief. So Foreman had guessed the truth of the situation but his limited imagination would only let him go so far. Or maybe it was just a matter of male pride. Foreman's brain was unable to grasp the idea that it was Gregory House who had usurped him in Remy's bedroom and heart.

"Yes," she said.

"Well I can see that he makes you happy. And that's all that matters. Congratulations." And it sounded like he meant it.

The tears had started in Remy's eyes as she reached her hand across the seat and placed it atop Foreman's.

"Thank you Eric. That means more to me than I can say."

"Well, I guess I owe you. I was a jerk to you this morning. Guess I've been working with the king of the jerks for too long."

She inadvertently took her hand away. "No Eric, I . . ."

"Although I really can't fault House for that with what he's been going through now. It's just, you two together this morning, you were bantering back and forth with each other so easy and naturally . . ."

"House and I have jerked each other around before."

"But this morning he was different. And you were different. It made me . . . jealous. I was jealous of the way you were with him. You were comfortable. Happy. Well now I know why."

Thirteen felt like her heart had stopped beating in her chest.

"You're in love with someone and I guess you can't help that spilling over onto everyone else. Not even our ass of a boss."

Remy looked over at him again and when he glanced away from the road, she smiled. Foreman smiled back.

"Of course, you've always been his favorite on the team."

"And THAT'S what made you jealous isn't it?" she chuckled. "You've always gotta be valedictorian, number one, numero uno, teacher's pet. My but aren't we competitive."

"I have always been an ambitious man," he said without a hint of sarcasm.

"I know. I know. Nothing else has ever really mattered to you. Not your personal life, friendships, relationships. You're that driven."

"You mattered Remy. You still do."

They were silent again as Foreman turned the car back into the parking lot of a donut shop not far from the hospital. He pulled into a space and turned off the engine.

"Thank you Eric," she said not having moved a muscle.

"I want us to be, I still want us to be . . . friends," he said.

"It will certainly make things easier to be friends with your coworkers as you climb the ladder of success."

Foreman smiled. "Yes it will," he said. "And you're the type of person I really do want to stay friends with too."

Thirteen nodded. "Okay. But you don't get to come over and watch me and my new girlfriend make out. No matter what you say."

Foreman laughed as he climbed out of the car. "Damn! That was gonna be my next question."


	19. Chapter 19

**19.**

Something strange was going on, that much was certain. There were just too many elements, too many moving pieces and Robert Chase had been far too long in the employ of Gregory House to ignore the obvious signs.

What had at first seemed merely loose threads in his various colleagues' agendas and behaviors soon became for Chase a tapestry that wove itself into an intricate pattern of strange coincidences and even stranger ramifications.

As if he were performing a DDX on the symptoms of a patient, Chase began to catalogue and analyze the evidence presented him and very soon concluded that something was greatly amiss within the microcosm that was Princeton Plainsboro.

Looking back, Chase realized that the first loose thread had unraveled Wednesday morning with House and his out of the ordinary insistence in taking on not just one but two patients.

But it soon became apparent that House was not the only one exhibiting bizarre behavior. Hadn't it really started before that with Thirteen's willingness to engage House in a fiery battle of wits and words that had not let up the entire week until House diagnosed the second patient late Saturday afternoon?

Foreman's patient had proved a much tougher nut to crack than the first. The patient's symptoms thwarted every diagnosis while at the same time increasing in severity forcing everyone, even House himself, to remain at the hospital running tests and brainstorming round the clock.

The increased amount of time Chase spent with his coworkers allowed him to make his observations unabated. The snowball of suspicion may have started on Wednesday with House's atypical behavior but it certainly had increased in both speed and volume ever since.

And no one seemed immune – certainly not House and the members of his team who all acted as if they were slightly out of sync. Not even Wilson who had forgone his usual lunches with House and indeed, had avoided his best friend all week long.

Strangest of all was the complete absence of Lisa Cuddy who had, for the first time Chase could remember since he'd started working at PPTH, shunned the hospital for several days together. The formidable Dean of Medicine had not been seen at work since late Tuesday.

Chase had been able to cobble together several different scenarios in his mind. But as each one became more outlandish than the last, he quickly discarded all of them as beyond the realm of possibility.

So what the hell was going on?

With the continuing puzzle of his coworkers' behavior and after all the overtime spent on their most recent patient Chase was supremely tired and drained.

But not so exhausted as Thirteen must be.

Chase had never seen House ride Remy as hard as he had since they started treatment on the second patient. He'd mocked every one of her theories, questioned the results from every test that she ran. It was almost as if House wanted to force her to quit.

Of course to Chase's mind, the upshot of all this would be that perhaps Thirteen's fatigued state would make her more susceptible to his amorous advances. And right now, the only thing that would suit him better than hitting the sack would be hitting the sack with Remy lying beneath him. So Chase decided to place the strange goings-on at the hospital on the back burner of his mind in favor focusing his energies on his best opportunity yet to get Thirteen to succumb to his obvious charms.

Ever since Wednesday's surreal discussion with House about her sexual partners and her shoes, Chase had felt as if he were trying to redeem his frequent flyer miles while on stand by. He'd thought about having Remy for a long time. The fact that she had already slept with Foreman was not a hindrance to him.

Neither was her obvious reluctance to get involved with him, another coworker. In point of fact, her steady rebuffs served as an additional enticement to his already overactive libido. She was hot. So was he. And the fact that they were both fairly freewheeling single people just seemed to be fate rolling the dice in his favor. And after conquering Remy's qualms, Chase felt fairly secure in his ability to convince her to bring home girlfriends with whom they could both share some pillow time.

Yes, a few threesomes thrown in here and there might do him a world of good and possibly stop the critical voices in his head as well as the ache in his heart that had formed there after he'd lost his marriage. The idea that threesomes and random sexual partners without commitment might not appeal to Remy never really occurred to him.

For Chase was a man on a mission. He knew what he wanted. And he knew who he wanted to do it with. All that remained for him was to get Remy to agree to it and there was no time like the present to give her his full court press when her defenses were lowered.

By the time he'd gotten down to the locker room to shower and spring his suggestion of going out for a few drinks to her, he found that she'd already showered and left. Taub had seen her go and he looked sideways at Chase when he delivered that information.

"Are you still on that?" Taub said. "Hasn't she already turned you down enough times? Maybe you should consider that with Thirteen, 'no' really does mean 'NO.'"

"Look who's giving me advice about playing it cool with women," Chase said, his accent increasing along with his frustration. "Who are you nailing this week at the same time as your ex-wife?"

"At least I don't ask the same woman the same question 50 times hoping for a different answer each time."

"Maybe if you ask the question wrong then that's why you get turned down."

Taub slammed his locker closed. "Why don't you give her a break? We've all had a long week. And she's had a rougher time than any of us."

Chase smiled as he replied, "I know. That probably means her resistance will be down."

Taub shook his head as he turned and headed for the exit. "I don't know who's worse. House for taking his crap with Cuddy out on the only woman on the team or you, like an opportunistic vulture swooping in on her carcass before the body's cold."

"See? Even you admit that Thirteen could use a little warming up," Chase shouted after Taub. He laughed as he gathered his stuff and headed to his car. A little horizontal downtime with Thirteen was just what the doctor ordered for him to forget all the insanity of this week.


	20. Chapter 20

**20.**

House's hips swiveled right, then left as he expertly guided the motorcycle through the light traffic of an early Saturday evening in Princeton. The wind in his face coupled with the bike's rhythmic hum and steady vibration between his knees were once again proving to be a calming influences upon the rider.

He needed the bike tonight. His confidence in thinking he could just as quickly diagnose the second patient as he had the first had been bitterly crushed by the evening of that first day. Not only did the patient not have an autoimmune disease but everyone, even House himself, had been unable to leave the hospital since Wednesday.

The increased workload had forced them all to shower in the locker rooms and sleep on the couches in the doctors' lounge. This made everyone, in House's opinion, correspond with the namesakes of at least three of the seven dwarves: all the docs were sleepy and grumpy and House contended that several of them were dopey as well.

What was worse was that House had been kept from his promised Wednesday night appointment with Thirteen. In fact, the extended hours and crowded working conditions kept the new couple constantly separated and forever at odds, incessantly arguing over diagnoses and courses of treatment.

Yet House felt strangely serene.

He recognized there were reasons for his newfound sense of calm. For one thing, he and Thirteen's relationship remained a well-guarded secret. Although he felt there was a noticeable increase in their teasing, he instinctively counterbalanced their sexual repartee by pushing and badgering Thirteen harder during the DDXs than he'd ever done before, certainly much harder than any of the other members of his team. After what he'd put her through this week, no one could possibly accuse House of playing favorites.

Nevertheless, the more he harried her, the more unrelenting his manner and questions, the more Thirteen seemed to rise to the occasion, truly blossoming as a doctor under the additional stress. Her reactions and strength of will in the face of his onslaught in turn triggered more ideas for treatments and sparked his own epiphanies at a faster rate than House had ever experienced before.

In just a few short days, House and Thirteen's working relationship had become a metaphor for their personal one. The more he gave, the more she gave back to him, each one becoming so attuned to the other's thoughts and actions that they could only succeed together where individually they might fail.

To House, this upward spiral was both novel and confusing. He'd never experienced this type of feeling, this type of euphoria at work, even under the best of circumstances. Thirteen, or rather his new bond of intimacy with her, had brought a whole new ingredient to the mix of his puzzle-solving capabilities. Somehow their activities several mornings ago had inspired him. And he'd found to his great surprise that not only two patients in less than a week had benefitted, but he had as well.

Is this what it was truly like? Is this how happiness felt? If so, how could he ever have imagined himself to be happy before?

How very strange. And how very different from he and Cuddy's relationship from its inception through its sickening and for him, near fatal ending?

House had given Cuddy his heart. True, it was battered and bruised, misshapen and imperfect but it was all he had. Everything. And he gave it freely.

But Cuddy soon established that although she had said that he didn't need to change, she refused to accept him unless monumental changes were in fact made.

She needed him in her bed but excluded him from her heart. That was because it was already full with the only thing she could ever truly love, her hospital.

She loved the power, intrigue and manipulations it took to govern PPTH. And House realized with more than a touch of sadness that he could never measure up to that. Cuddy needed him to be not only the biggest moneymaker at PPTH but also the hospital's golden boy and her own personal parade pony to perform tricks for the public and especially her precious donors. Needless to say, he had been expected to accomplish all this while completely under the crushing yoke of her unrealistic expectations.

At first, House had tried to tow the line. If he admitted it within his heart of hearts, like it had been with his father, he had been so desperate to _earn_ her love he would've done anything to please her. But as he scrambled to make himself worthy, Cuddy's emotional cruelty spilled over into everything else. Her controlling tendencies encompassed both his personal life as well as his professional one.

And he knew that one day he would reach a breaking point where he would have to choose, between the woman he loved and his gift, his incredible gift of healing. Blinded by his love for her and damaged by his own treacherous self loathing, still he chose Cuddy. He even told her so.

That was when it all fell apart. Rejection of his gift would be injurious to her beloved hospital. The only course of action for Cuddy then became the full rejection of House himself.

Without so much as an apology or explanation she cut him loose. In so doing Cuddy cut him more deeply and absolutely than any scalpel piercing his heart.

That dynamic was totally alien and opposite to the one he'd already established these few short days with Thirteen. It seemed the more they pushed each other, the higher they _both_ would rise. Rather than becoming an impediment or hindrance to his work, this new relationship had inspired a greater sense of confidence and drive in him.

So much so that House had nearly forgotten that Cuddy had not returned to work the entire rest of the week. Nor had she attempted to contact him in any way.

He had been so busy, so wrapped up in his work and with Thirteen's reactions that he actually never gave himself time to think about Cuddy or her obvious slight of not communicating with him whatsoever. And now that he did have the time, he found that he, much to his own surprise, didn't even care. He was still riding the high from this week's experience with Thirteen.

Yet now that he was alone and could crawl back inside his own head, the old worries began to plague him once more.

Truth was, while he was increasing the pressure all week long on Thirteen, he had never had a single moment alone with her to check if she was okay, to tease her into revealing if she was just as enthusiastic as he was about their interactions.

He'd never even made sure that he was still welcome to come over to her apartment. Yet here he was on his way over to see her just as if they had made their plans that morning instead of three days ago.

What if it had all been an act? Thirteen could be just as secretive as he could. She was capable of hiding her emotions and playing along. What if he had hurt her feelings and she was really mad at him? What if she'd finally wised up and realized that a relationship with an older, crazy, broken down, drug addict was the last thing she needed in her already complicated life?

The problem was, these thoughts did not really hit him until just as he pulled up and parked the bike in front of her place. Every cell in his body recoiled at the very thought of climbing the steps outside of the building, going up the elevator and knocking on her door.

Yet House remained a curious man. And while he knew in his heart he could not take another rejection, _her_ rejection, he still had to know, had to see her face, look once more in her eyes before everything was taken away from him and he was left alone once more to wallow in his utter despair.

Even after stopping for flowers and a decent bottle of Australian Shiraz, Chase still made good time getting over to Remy's apartment. He hadn't rushed. He'd wanted to give himself a few extra minutes to play out the things he would say and Remy's possible responses to him over in his mind.

He had come up with a counterargument for every one of her possible rebuffs so that by the time he parked his car across the street from her place, he felt assured of successfully entering both her door and her panties.

It was not until he'd closed the driver's side door, the bottle of wine and flowers in one hand and his car keys in the other that he looked up. Chase froze. He looked across the street and saw an all-too-familiar figure dismounting a motorcycle and limping up the steps.

House? What the hell was he doing here? Had he gotten religion somehow and realized how poorly he'd treated Remy this week? Was he here to apologize to her?

Whatever the reason, Chase didn't want to miss this. Quickly and stealthily, he crossed the street and entered the building just as House got on the elevator. Chase shrewdly took the stairs.

Just as he came out on Thirteen's floor, he heard the clang of the bell signaling the arrival of the lift. Hiding in a nearby alcove, he peeked around the corner when he heard House knocking on the door. There was a long pause and then House used his cane to knock on the door again.

House's cane was still poised in mid-air when Remy flung open the door. The two stared at each other some seconds before House finally spoke.

"You said your place," House said and then paused. "I probably should have made sure . . ."

But House didn't have the chance to finish the sentence because Thirteen threw her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him fiercely, pushing him roughly against the open doorframe. House responded by throwing his cane into the still open doorway and then moving his hands along her body pressing himself against her.

Chase barely kept himself from dropping the bottle and flowers and shouting out in surprise as he watched the couple grope and kiss each other, beginning to remove one another's clothes as they reeled into the apartment and shut the door behind them.

Chase stood in the now empty hallway for what must have been at least ten minutes, his mouth hanging open and his presents pathetically drooping at his sides. Eventually he recovered himself enough to take a deep, steadying breath, blinking several times to clear away the fog from his eyes and brain.

And then he turned and headed back down the stairwell. As he stepped outside, the fresh air seemed to slap him in the face, releasing all the emotions he'd felt throughout the long, harrowing week. Everything came back to him, all the scenes that had played out in their unmasked, vivid colors.

He hurled the bouquet of flowers over the side wall as he sat heavily down on the top landing of the stairs. Taking out his Swiss army knife, he found the corkscrew and opened the bottle of Shiraz. As soon as he'd uncorked the bottle, he took a great swig from it and wiped his mouth on his sleeve with the other arm.

And then Chase tilted his head back and laughed, long, loud and genuinely happy.


	21. Chapter 21

**21.**

_Three days before . . ._

She began to think she would wear a hole in the carpet. Back and forth, back and forth as she paced a trench across her living room rug.

Though anxious, she was nonetheless grateful he'd called to say he would be stopping by. At least she'd been given fair warning to tidy herself or her house prior to his arrival. Her nervousness and sense of dread however kept her from doing anything apart from her ceaseless pacing.

All too soon, she heard the doorbell ring. He must have called after he was already on his way.

Cuddy had not learned from her gaffe the previous night. Failing to first confirm her visitor's identity, she hurled open the front door. But this time there was no surprise guest waiting on the other side, no House leaning on his cane on her doorstep. And the disappointment she felt weighed heavily upon her mind.

Instead, the anticipated Wilson trudged into her entry hall, closing the door behind him as Cuddy turned away, stalking toward her living room.

"So what's going on Wilson? What was so important that it couldn't wait?" And then a new idea infused itself upon her thoughts giving her hope for a break in House's formidable position. "Did House ask you to come by? Are you here on his behalf?"

"What? No," Wilson fairly spluttered. "I just came by . . ."

"You're not House's intermediary? He didn't send you?"

"No," Wilson repeated.

Cuddy heaved a frustrated sigh and flopped down on the couch, curving one leg beneath her as she sat down.

"He's going to be obstinate about this isn't he?" she said swiping her hand across her face in an overly dramatic flourish. "He's going to try and wait me out. Or maybe he's just playing one of his games with me. Getting me frustrated and so worked up he thinks he'll be able to waltz right back into my bed?"

She turned to Wilson, her eyes narrow and her cheeks flushed in anger. "Well you tell him . . . you tell him it WON'T work! House will come crawling back to me before I ever go back to him! Tell him . . ."

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," Wilson said as he threw his hands up in front of him like a traffic cop motioning for a driver to stop. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm only here to check on you. You didn't come in today. That's not at all like you. And then House came in and he was so . . ."

"What? What was he like?" Cuddy stood up from the couch and marched toward him. "Was he upset? How did he look? Did he look like he hadn't slept?"

"He looked like he'd been in a fight."

"What?"

"He looked a little banged up and bruised but not that bad actually. I've seen him a lot worse." He paused and gave Cuddy a meaningful look. "A whole lot worse."

Cuddy turned away again to hide the guilty feeling she knew her features might betray. She pretended to look out her picture window as she folded her arms across her chest. "Did you talk to him? What . . . what did he say?"

"He said you gave him your ultimatum. He was pretty pissed I didn't tell him about it beforehand."

She carefully composed her features before she turned to face him again. "What did you say to that?"

Wilson raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. He cast his eyes to the floor as he said, "I told him he was right. I should've given him the heads up."

"No. I told you not to. I told you to let me handle him . . . it. To let me handle it."

"Well the way he tells it, sounds like you didn't handle _it_ or _him_ very well. What the hell happened here last night?"

"That's between me and House," Cuddy said as she felt her ire rise.

"Not if you asked me for my silence, for me to be a party to this little enterprise," Wilson shot back. "I basically lied to my best friend. But only because I wanted to help him . . . and you too."

"Yeah. You keep telling yourself that," she said, a slight laugh in her voice. "Maybe one day you'll believe it enough to make it true."

"NOW what are you talking about?"

"Having House and me together just made things easier for you didn't it? Admit it. You were more than relieved when House and I first got together. I took him off your hands. Left you free to make an ass of yourself with Samantha . . . again. I babysat him. You figured I'd be there when he'd eventually take Vicodin again which we both knew was gonna happen. I just didn't think . . ."

"No!" Wilson said loudly. "You didn't think! And apparently you're not doing any thinking right now either!"

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

"I don't see anyone else in this living room."

"I'll tell you like I told him last night," she said, taking a step closer to him and lowering her arms to her sides, small hands clenching into fists. "Get out!"

"Was that before or after he told you he loved you and Rachel and wanted to have a life with the both of you?"

Cuddy stumbled back as if she'd been pushed. "Wh . . . what did you say?"

"You heard me. Did you throw him out before or after he told you he loved you but that you needed to accept him as he is right now?"

"He . . . he told you about that?"

It was Wilson's turn to take a step back. "Yes," he said more quietly. "And I, I didn't believe him. I'm his best friend and I . . . I didn't believe he would ever open himself up like that. Especially not after . . . not after . . ."

"What? Not after what?"

Wilson shook his head. "Not after everything that's happened between you two. I can't believe he was that honest with you, told you he still loves you after you broke his heart."

Cuddy folded her arms across her chest once more. "Typical. How very typical. It's back to the boy's club I guess. House is right no matter what," she said, her voice taking on a mocking, sing-song quality. "And I get blamed for everything."

"Not for _everything_. But for the things that ARE your fault, then yeah."

"Like what? What's my fault? Enlighten me!" Cuddy said, maintaining the same derisive tone.

Wilson looked at her, a sad expression on his face and in his eyes. "YOU should know that better than anyone. Maybe even better than House."

Cuddy's jaw worked up and down but still she said nothing, so Wilson continued. "You took him for granted. You bullied him, tried to control him. In fact you did just about everything a woman can do to a man except what he needed the most . . . love him. And you did the same thing that I did this very morning. You completely misjudged him."

The tears came to her eyes fast and furious and Cuddy was forced to angrily swipe at them as they sped down her cheeks.

"It's not true," she sniffed.

"Isn't it? House was right. He accepted you, loved you for who you are right now. You only loved an _idea_ of him. What you thought you could mold him into. Not the person he is, not the man who gave you his heart and soul."

Cuddy began to cry in earnest. "Oh Wilson," she cried. "I don't know . . . how did this go so far? How did we get here? How can I make him come back to me?"

Wilson looked gravely at the sobbing Cuddy before he stepped forward and put his arms around her, patting her back in a soothing gesture. She sagged against him, crying even harder.

"Well first things first," he said. "You need to accept that you can't _make_ House do anything. You tried that before and it blew up in your face."

"Then what Wilson? What should I do?"

Wilson grasped Cuddy by both arms just above the elbows and gently pushed her away from his body so he could see her face, look into her eyes. Though tear-filled and bloodshot, they were still a lovely shade of blue mixed with grey.

"I don't know," he replied quietly. "I don't know what you should do. What do you want?"

"I want House back."

"Why though? Why do you want him back?"

Her tears stopped as suddenly as they had started. She glowered at him angrily.

"What do you mean? Why are you asking me that?"

Wilson raised his voice as he answered. "Because you can't just want him on a whim. It nearly destroyed him last time. No. That's not right. YOU almost killed him when you broke up with him before. You have to decide if you want him back that it's for the right reasons. Not just because . . ."

"What Wilson?" Cuddy's voice was only slightly lower than a shout as she twisted from his grasp. "What? Because I want to control him? Because I need him in my hospital and in my bed? What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"Nothing! But not once have I heard you say that you loved him, that you still love him now. House TOLD you that already. He said he loved you and he still loves you. And Rachel. He accepts and loves you for the crazy, controlling administrator you are. But you can't even meet him halfway?"

"If I want to say all that to him, I'll say it to him. Not to you!"

"Then why haven't you already done it? Why didn't you tell him when he came over here last night and poured his heart out to you? What were you doing?"

"Don't you understand?" she said, putting her face close to his and lowering her voice to an angry hiss. "I DID tell him. I told him I needed him. I said . . ."

"Need isn't the same thing as love. Not the same thing at all."

"God! You sound just like him now." She turned away from him as she said, "But you're wrong. It worked. I almost had him. We kissed. He came so close to having sex with me. If it weren't for that damn brilliant mind . . . he over thinks everything."

"House came here and told you the truth and all you did was play games with him? Played with his emotions? Led him on and tried to what? Get him to f . . ."

"No! Yes! I . . . I don't know any more!"

Cuddy's shoulders began to shake and her body, to tremble.

Wilson stepped forward and took her by the elbow, gently guiding her to the couch. Once she sat down he moved next to her and put his arm over her shoulders to continue to try to comfort her.

"Shhhh," he said. "Okay. Okay. Calm down now. Don't let yourself get so upset."

"I don't know what I was thinking. I don't know what I was doing. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. I just wanted him to come back to me. I just wanted him . . . I just wanted him again. I thought if we could be together like before, he'd have to come back to me. It's always worked with him before. I'm so lonely without him. I miss him Wilson. I need him. Is that so wrong?" She sniffed and uncharacteristically, wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"No. No. Of course not. But you were only thinking of your own needs. And you were trying to manipulate him by having sex with him. I don't know if House is gonna fall for that anymore."

Cuddy surprised Wilson with a very wet chuckle. "No, I guess not. It didn't work on him last night, that's for sure," she said with bitterness in her voice. And then, more sadly, "I guess . . . I guess I'm just too old. I'm not attractive to House or anyone anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Wilson asked, taking her by the shoulder to hold her close. "That's not true. Of course you're attractive."

She turned her face to him as he still held her, gently rubbing her arm in sympathy. "Really?" she asked. "Do you think so?"

"Oh c'mon. I know so."

"Do . . . do you find me attractive?"

"I . . . well . . ."

"You see," Cuddy said, sniffing again, "I knew it."

"No. I mean, of course I do. I've always found you attractive."

"Really? Or are you just saying that?"

"No really. You know I've always thought you were attractive," he said as he gently clapped her shoulder and chuckled. "In fact, I've often thought that if House hadn't beat me to it . . ."

"What Wilson?" Cuddy said as she looked up at him eagerly. "What?"

"Oh . . . I don't know."

Wilson was looking at her, his eyes filled with pity. But there was a touch of something else there too. Cuddy saw it. She moved closer. They were so close together now that they were inhaling each other's breath.

Then suddenly at the same time they moved their lips against each other. In the next moment, their mouths opened as each of their tongues sought the other's.

Wilson's mouth hungrily devoured hers as his mind went blank. He focused instead on the way his body had become so quickly aroused, shifting from comforting friend to stimulated lover. He pushed her back on the couch and moved over her, feeling her hands grasping at his chest and tearing at his clothes.

Cuddy's lips released his and for a moment he thought she breathed the name, "House." But then she roughly shoved his face into her cleavage and his employment there struck everything else from his mind.

She was writhing beneath him, hiking her legs over his hips as he began to move forward sensing her willingness and wanting nothing more than to fulfill her need. And his own.

Wilson leaned back as Cuddy made a frustrated sound. Her frustration soon turned to something else as she saw he was only creating space between them so he would have room to undo his fly.

Cuddy's eyes closed again as Wilson began to lower his weight on top of her once more. She felt him moving closer and she cried out again in need.

"House?"

All human movement froze on the couch in reaction to the small voice emanating near the entryway to the living room. Then, as if a button had been pressed, they hurriedly pushed away from each other, Wilson grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch and using it to cover his exposed front. Cuddy did the same with a nearby blanket throwing it over herself to hide her disheveled and gaping clothes.

Rachel eyed the nervous and now guilty looking adults scrupulously. Then she pointed at Wilson with one chubby, accusatory finger and said, "You not House."

"No baby," Cuddy said. "You go back to bed. I'll be in in a minute to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight."

The little girl didn't move. "Mama. Where's House? I want House."

"Honey," you really need to go back to your room right now. I'll be in in a minute."

"But want joos. House let me hab joos."

"I'll give you juice. In a minute." Then Cuddy raised her voice and pointed a finger back toward the hallway. "Now go back to your room! Scoot!"

Rachel's large eyes looked suspiciously at the adults as she turned, very slowly around and began to toddle back down the hallway.

Wilson slapped his hand over his forehead as he kept repeating, "Oh my God. Oh my God."

Cuddy began straightening her clothes and rebuttoning her blouse. "Okay, let's not panic."

"But what the hell . . .? What happened? What almost happened?"

"Wilson! Almost is the operative word here. Nothing happened."

"What do you mean _nothing_ happened?" Wilson said, turning to look at her as he took his hand away from his face. "A LOT happened here. A helluva lot.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

"God! We've already done that! I've gotta talk to House. I've gotta tell him . . ."

"What? Tell him what? That you betrayed his friendship?"

"Hey! You're the one who said nothing happened!"

"Yeah, well. I was wrong," Cuddy said as she finished straightening her clothes and stood up from the couch. "Tell me honestly if it will matter to House whether we finished what we started here or not." She paused to make eye contact with Wilson who just lowered his eyes to the floor. "You see? You know yourself that House will look at this . . . at this . . . indiscretion as your complete betrayal of his feelings."

"MY betrayal? How about OUR betrayal? It's not like I did this alone."

"Keep your voice down," Cuddy hissed. "I don't want Rachel coming back out here. I have to go see to her. You wait here 'til I get back. Then we'll figure out what we'll tell him . . . or not tell him."

"I . . . I don't think I can face him," Wilson said. "And I know I can't lie to him."

"You'll do what I tell you to do. Because it will be in _our_ best interests."

"Whose best interests? Mine? Or yours? Certainly not House's."

"Just calm down. We'll figure this out. We just have to get our stories straight. And rehearse what we're gonna say to him."

"I can't Cuddy. I'm gonna have to avoid him. He'll know something's up as soon as he sees me. He always knows. And I just don't think he'll believe a lie . . . from either of us. He never has before. Oh God. I won't lie to him. I won't."

"You will," Cuddy said although her eyes had begun to dart back and forth as she remembered that House had said she had a 'tell' whenever she tried to lie to him. "Just . . . just stay here while I see to Rachel. I'll be right back." The last statement she said over her shoulder as she strode down the hall.

Rachel was a bit squirmy at first but finally relaxed back into the covers of her crib. Cuddy settled her as best she could with promises that she would be right back and returned to the living room as quickly as possible.

But Wilson was already gone.

_A/N: I know I promised some of you smut. Really, this was not what I had originally intended. But then I realized that I needed to move this chapter up as an explanation for why both Wilson and Cuddy avoided House for the rest of the week, Wilson shunning his usual lunches with House and Cuddy avoiding PPTH altogether. Wilson does feel guilty for this slip and Cuddy, well Cuddy already has a track record of taking sexual advantage of her employees when they are already in vulnerable positions (see the end of "Help Me" for just one example). Makes me think if the sexes, not the roles, were reversed (male boss seducing female employees when they're about to fall off the wagon) there would have been a helluva lot more irate viewers. But that's neither here nor there._

_Anyway, while Wilson and Cuddy are trying to get themselves out of the hole they've dug themselves into, the next chapter WILL contain the aforementioned and promised hot House smut. Hopefully. ;)_


End file.
